


The Diary of Jimmy Kent

by Velvetoscar



Category: Downton Abbey
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-03
Updated: 2013-06-18
Packaged: 2017-12-13 21:00:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 141,545
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/828844
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Velvetoscar/pseuds/Velvetoscar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set after the Series 3 finale, Jimmy find solace within his only friend: a diary.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. September

Sept 21, 1920 5:34 pm

Dear Diary,

Is that how I'm supposed to start this? I'm not really sure… I've never had a diary before since it's silly and girly, so I'm not really sure how this whole thing works. Actually, the only reason I even have this blasted thing is because I found it outside under Mr. Bates' cane (O'Brien must have hidden it from him again) and since it was such a nice shade of periwinkle, I decided to keep it. It makes me feel poetic and mysterious.

And, since life is dramatic lately, I suppose it will be nice to have something to confide in.

Not that I have anything to confide.

But, like I said, life is very dramatic. Today I lost my glove _twice_. And Bates told Carson I have a bad attitude which is just rude and uncalled for, since I have everything but. HE'S the rude one. And _then,_ to top it all off, I got a scolding from Mrs. Patmore because she heard me telling Alfred that the reason he's 2nd footman is because he's so unattractive and has no personality. She shooed me away with oven mitts while Daisy and Ivy giggled in the background. I don't understand the fuss, since it's true.

Still, was very upset about the whole thing, so ended up playing angry piano in the servants' hall. Was perhaps playing a bit too loud, because Mr. Carson came storming in with Mrs. Hughes behind him, and had an absolute fit.

"WHAT ON EARTH ARE YOU DOING, JAMES? AT THIS TIME OF DAY? HAVEN'T YOU WORK TO DO?"

Mrs. Hughes stuck up for me though, so eventually he gave up and grumbled away. I tried not to smirk too much.

Love Mrs. Hughes. Is very kind and motherly and has such a soothing voice. Would love her more if she hadn't become best mates with Mr. Barrow who is a sexual predator.

You see Diary, I hate Mr. Barrow. Absolutely hate him. Hate him, hate him, hate him. From his stupid raven black hair, to his annoying moon-white pallid skin, to his ugly, shiny, under-butler shoes. Is an indecent man. And very bold. Hate him, hate him, hate him.

Is strange though.

Before, Barrow was so sweet and always smiled and paid attention to my pretty hair and kissed me in my sleep, but now he is indifferent and professional and doesn't look at me. Do not mind of course, since hate Barrow and his strange advances, even if I cannot blame him because I am a very valuable and pretty person. Is still strange, though.

I mean, sure I tried to fire him and ruin his life (but really, that was only because of that old, haggardly woman, O'Brien, and her persuasive bitch skills, and it was Alfred who called the coppers, not me) but does he really have to act like I'm just another person? I'm first footman, and he used to pay lots of attention to me. It was sort of nice…

Well. I mean. In a sex-offender sort of way.

It's just appalling that he has the AUDACITY to pretend I don't exist when he STALKED me before. But I really am happy about it. Extremely happy.

Sometimes I'll even walk past him so close that my shoulder bumps against his, just to prove to him that I am [still] not affected by his presence and am [still] in control of the situation. He never seems to pay much attention though.

Not that I care.

5:40 pm

On second thought, Mr. Barrow probably only pretends I don't exist because he's plotting some secret mission to molest me.

Which is just horrid.

5:57 pm

Alfred's just seen me writing in my diary.

He said, "Oi! What's that? You got a little girl's diary?" and laughed like he thought he was funny.

So I said that I can do as I please and that writing was not solely women's work. Then I told Ivy she has nice skin and walked out, being sure to walk slow to make an impact. Love complimenting Ivy whenever Alfred irritates me. Almost makes him cry because he carries a torch for her and she likes me so much better.

But what if Alfred's right? What if it is girly to have a diary? Will have to keep it hidden from now on. And will need to show that am not girly at all.

Hm. Must prove my manliness to him…

9:02 pm

Well, Diary. I knew it. Barrow is still obsessed with me.

Right before I went up to serve dinner, he told me this:

"James. Straighten your tie."

! The creep! He was obviously looking at my neck. Probably envisioning illicit fantasies. I knew there was something going on with him. And though he doesn't actually look at me ever, I know he probably does when I'm not paying attention, cuz he's a dumb egg like that. Ugh!

Sept 22 5:31 am

Had terrible dreams last night. In one, I turned into an ugly girl and everybody was making fun of me, and I couldn't find my clothes and I was chased by the villagers into a cave of manure.

Must not turn into a girl. Must prove Alfred wrong and show everybody how masculine I am! Today. Will find a way to make it happen. Perhaps Daisy will trip and I can catch her?

Like Daisy. Is a darling, but has very bad taste.

11:21 am

Have decided to take matters into my own hands.

Today at breakfast, Alfred teased me in front of everybody, after Carson and Mrs. Hughes left.

"Where's your little journal, Miss Jimmy?"

The hall boys laughed, and I debated on throwing my porridge on his pants.

"I think it's nice that Jimmy has a journal. More boys should be like him," Ivy smiled, giving me the eye. She's a pretty gal, but she's terribly clingy and very silly. Still though, I smiled in return and winked, because you got to have the right people playing for your team. And I knew my hair looked nice today.

"Well, I'm glad I'm not like him," Alfred mumbled.

"That's enough, Alfred. I suggest you get started with your day," Mr. Barrow suddenly clipped from his seat, his voice simultaneously cold and smooth.

Oh God.

There he was again, practically THROWING himself at me from across the table.

I will not stand for his advances. You'd think after almost getting FIRED, he would learn to control himself.

Indignantly, I left the table without another word, being sure to not look at Mr. Barrow, and sending chill vibes his way.

Still though. Things are getting out of hand. I need to do something. And soon.

But what do real men do?

(not that I'm not a real man. I'm very manly.)

Sept 23 3:12 pm

Have taken the first steps of proving my masculinity.

Today I ate raw meat. In front of all the girls, and Alfred, too!

Alfred said he didn't think I could do it, so I took a pinch—a large pinch—out of Daisy's mixing bowl, and ATE IT in front of them ALL. I didn't even flinch!

Well, at least on the outside. On the inside I was absolutely dying because it was horrid and cold and slimy and I just wanted to spit.

Alfred "hmph"ed and looked away, Ivy giggled and said, "Jimmy, you'll do anything, won't you?" and Daisy looked at me with either severe judgment or awe. I prefer to think the latter.

Unfortunately, as everybody was fawning over my testosteronely ways, Mrs. Patmore thumped in, screeching.

"WHAT did I just see you do?!" She grabbed my hands, inspecting them, then scrutinized my face for signs of guilt. I must have looked terrified because she is very scary, large, and red. One time I saw her beat Molesley with a pan because he smudged her pudding.

"I"—I began, unsure of where to go from there.

"He took some raw meat from Daisy's bowl and ate it," Alfred finished without a blink.

My jaw dropped at his treachery.

"That's what I thought! What you thinkin, you bloomin idiot? Eating RAW meat?!"

"Well, I"—

"Well you what?! Thought you'd get your grubby hands in His Lordship's dinner? Get yourself sick with who knows what?"

"My, er, hand slipped. It must've grabbed some meat, and"—

"Oh? Well you better run outta here before MY hand slips and I chop off one of your sneaky little fingers!" she boomed, and I left as quickly as I could.

She continued to shout at me even as I was in the other room, and now it seems that I'm banned from the kitchen. At least, for the rest of the week.

It's not fair, because I just had a tiny bit of red meat, and don't all men do that? We can't be blamed for following our instincts.

Was worth it, though. Even if I do feel a little sick….

6:30 pm

Am most definitely sick. Cannot wait until I go to bed.

Why did I do this?

7:11 pm

Success!

Some scullery maids just came up to me.

Said, "Jimmy? We saw how you ate that meat raw. How did you do it? I can't believe you dared cross Mrs. Patmore, she's terrifying! Are you sick? That was so brave of you," and on and on.

Told them that I was used to doing such things, and that it was all part of being a man.

Hm. Must do this again.

7:13 pm

Bloody Hell! I just remembered I'm banned from the kitchen! How will I eat raw meat and prove how strong I am to everybody?

7:15 pm

I'll ask Ivy to knick me some.

Sept 24 4:15 pm

Ivy has stolen the meat and given it to me. I ate it in front of everybody again, but felt so sick after eating it that I needed to run to the bathroom.

Now Alfred can't stop laughing.

Am never doing this again.

7:31 pm

Overheard Alfred making fun of me to impress the maids. They were giggling because they're uneducated.

Not long after, heard Mr. Barrow say, "That's enough Alfred. You lot should all be upstairs. On you go."

It didn't sound mean, but it felt cold. He has such a way of speaking that is authoritative and calm at the same time… Not like Carson who booms orders and tuts and is curt. Mr. Barrow is very smooth, almost intimidating at times. He never used to be before.

Not that it matters.

The point is, he obviously only joined the conversation because it was about me. It's the only explanation, since he hasn't said anything to, or rather at, me in days. And he can't have forgotten about me.

Why does he keep acting like I don't exist?

I'm first footman!

Sept 25 8:41 pm

Mr. Barrow made more advances on me today.

Was heading up to dinner with the fish, when my coattails got stuck on the corner of the table. So Barrow UNSTUCK me. Just took his hands and fondled my fabric, and didn't even blink an eye.

I nearly blushed, but thankfully nobody saw.

I bet it's because of what Alfred was saying. He thinks I'm weak.

Must prove him wrong! Him and his prying hands.

Sept 26 11:13 pm

Had an absolutely atrocious day. More horrible than you could possibly imagine, Diary.

It all started because I decided to take a different approach to my problems. Instead of eating raw meat, I decided to do the next manliest thing: chopping wood.

However. I am a footman, and all wood-related issues are strictly below my stature, so I had a bit of a conundrum on my hands. After much deliberation, I decided that I could chop just one piece of wood, carry it in while I wore an old jacket (so I wouldn't get my clothes dirty), and walk slowly enough to show others, but quickly enough to avoid Mr. Carson.

So, as soon as I woke up, I snuck out to the woodshed in the back, and began my project.

Well. Turns out, chopping wood is exceptionally difficult. I couldn't get the blasted thing to split—not even a crack—so decided to try to smash it to bits.

Did not work. Instead, my hand was pierced with a sliver as long as my finger. Did not cry at the pain, but did get a woodchip in my eye, so teared up the tiniest bit due to the physical irritation.

At that point, was so in despair that did not notice Alfred who had just come outside to get the morning paper. It was much later than I had thought.

He peered at me—tiny, squinting black eyes under greased, orange potato hair.

"Are you…crying?" He sounded repulsed.

Was appalled at such a notion, so wiped the sweat off of my face (because that's ALL it was—sweat) and stood up as tall as I could.

"No! I'm not bloody crying! I'm chopping wood!"

He looked at my pathetic attempts surrounding me: chipped logs, half-cracked twigs, and splinters.

Well, shit.

"Are you talking about that lot back there…?" He nodded to something behind me.

And glory behold, there was a huge, tidy stack of beautifully chopped firewood! I sent up a prayer of thanks and was just about to flex my muscles, when Alfred began to laugh. He laughed! Right in my face!

"You're chopping wood? That's the work of hall boys! You're no first footman! Ohhh, Carson will love to hear about this," he guffawed, head thrown back.

Felt heat in my cheeks, and didn't know what to say. I suppose it was a slightly strange situation. "I'm taking _initiative_ ," I said icily, and grabbed a log off the stack and stormed into the servants' hall, right past that oaf.

Momentarily felt triumphant. Until I realized I walked into the servants' breakfast.

With everybody.

Including Carson.

And the hall boys.

And Mr. Barrow.

And worst of all, I'd forgotten my jacket. So the dirty wood was all over my uniform.

It. Was. A. Nightmare.

"James," Carson spluttered, taking the scene in, "What is the meaning of this? What are you doing with that log? And in your livery?"

Everybody waited for an answer. Including me.

"Well. I. You see, there was…" I had absolutely NO clue how to explain myself, and the hall boys were just staring at me with accusing eyes (I don't know why, you'd think they'd be happy of someone else doing their chores) and I was starting to feel woodchips in my eyes again, when suddenly—

"Ah, James. Did you discover what that noise was?" Mr. Barrow's icy blue eyes hit me for the first time in months.

Oh God. What was he talking about?

I stared blankly.

"Noise? What noise?" Carson frowned, looking from Barrow, to me, and back again.

I couldn't form words.

"James?" Mrs. Hughes prompted.

All eyes on me.

"Nothing to worry about, Mr. Carson," Barrow supplied. "Some creature was making a ruckus outside, and I told James to handle the situation. Seems to have gotten him into a spot of trouble, but I trust it's nothing to worry about." He lied easily, smiling at the ends of his sentences.

I was lost for words. Why was he doing this?

"But I just—" Alfred began (he'd snuck in about five seconds previous, the bastard).

"Alfred, this is not your place," Barrow finished, with finality. O'Brien shot him a death glare but kept quiet. (she's been oddly quiet lately…)

Carson looked to me, and I composed myself enough to suggest I had a clue about what Barrow was talking about.

"Is this true, James?"

I nodded. "Yes, sir. Was just a…." I sneaked a quick glance at Barrow, who was firmly looking past my shoulder, "…a stray cat, sir. It was making a bit of a mess, so I shooed it away. It was a stubborn little thing, so it all turned a bit cat-and-mouse, but sh-she's gone now, and…" I didn't know how to finish. I didn't even know what I was saying, but I was sure I was blushing and everybody was still staring, and Barrow still wasn't but had that infuriating serene display of control soaked in his features. Here I was, looking a fool and he wasn't even blinking an eye!

"I see," said Mr. Carson, eyeing my filthy livery with near-fury. "And did you _throw_ yourself on the ground?" The attitude soaked into every word.

I merely bowed my head in shame.

"We have some spare uniforms in the wardrobe, Mr. Carson," Anna offered kindly. Was touched. She may be married to a rude old man, but I suppose Anna is rather nice.

"Very good, Anna," Mrs. Hughes smiled, "Now let's finish our breakfast, shall we?" She shot a glance at Carson. I could hug that woman.

Mr. Carson sighed and nodded and I began to hurry away, log still in tow. But before settling back to his breakfast, he looked up once more, brows still furrowed. "May I just ask-" I halted, fearing what was coming next, "—why you're carrying a _log_?" Insane amounts of judgment.

A valid question.

"Well." I paused, hoping Barrow would fill in this minor detail. He didn't. "Well, I…need it."

"For what exactly?"

Even Mrs. Hughes looked confused.

I stared. Oh God. It was all going to fall apart. They were going to find out I was just doing this to look like a man, and they'll laugh at me, and I'll be even less manly than before, and I'll be the laughing stock of the house, and—

"He got a rather bad splinter. I suspect he's bringing it to show Dr. Clarkson." Barrow sounded a little less enthused about needing to fill in all the cracks for me. It's not my fault we're not all con artists.

"Why would he need the log to show Dr. Clarkson? Surely he need not go at all. It's just a splinter!" Mrs. Hughes nearly laughed.

I felt my face redden. Thanks, Barrow. Thanks.

"Well, you know our Jimmy. Always better to be safe than sorry." _Our_ Jimmy? "And it is a bit of a nasty one," Barrow added, nodding to my injured hand. I awkwardly procured the evidence. (It really is an awful splinter. It impaled my whole palm, and if I'm not careful, I could most certainly get an infection. … Perhaps I should bring the log to Dr. Clarkson? Just to be sure it doesn't carry some sort of plague on it? Not to suggest that I am a worry wart, as they all most rudely implied…)

At this point Carson looked tired of the whole affair, so I just made my exit as swiftly as I possibly could.

"Well that was convenient," came a bitchy voice. O'Brien.

So I ran to my room, slammed my door, cleaned my hand, and the rest of the day was an absolute horror. Daisy and Ivy ignored me, and I swear Alfred was laughing at one point.

And don't get me started on Barrow. What does he think he's playing at? I don't need his help!

Am so embarrassed I could die.

Am keeping the log though. Just in case my hand gets infected and an analysis of the wood needs to be done. Just in case.

Sept 27 5:55 am

Oh Lord. Oh my Lord, Diary.

Yesterday. Yesterday when Barrow knew about the sliver in my hand. He couldn't have seen it, it was hidden by the log I was carrying.

Oh my Lord.

Diary. If he couldn't have seen it, how did he know I had it?

I'll tell you.

HE WAS WATCHING ME.

Oh my Lord.

6:12 am

This means he saw me crying!

6:13 am

Correction. Not crying. I meant: he saw my physical response to the woodchips caught in my eye.

Still, it reflects badly!

What must he think of me?!

6:14 am

Not that I care. Because he has no room to talk.

Being a weird sort and all.

6:15 am

He saw me failing to chop wood!

He must think I'm weak!

That's why he covered for me!

Pity!

I'm in despair.

6:17 am

But how long was he watching me?

What does this mean?

6:20 am

I don't know how I'm going to face today.

Sept 30 8:55 pm

The past couple of days have been boring, Diary. Everything's the same as always. Barrow is still ignoring me. Which is comical really, because I now know he watches me, and even though he doesn't know I know, he should still act like he knows he watches me. Because he does know, since he does it. So acting like I don't exist, when he is actually secretly stalking me with his eyes is downright rude.

But, all in all, I guess nobody really dwelled on the firewood incident. Which is good and bad.

Good because it was a disaster.

Bad because Alfred still keeps calling me a girl.

In short, I must continue to prove myself. But the trick is subtlety. I was trying too hard with the horrid firewood incident.

I need to do something subtle.

Yes. This is my goal. Next month will the month of change. I will be a better, stronger, manlier me.

I will call it: OCTOBER: THE MONTH OF CHANGE.

8:59 pm

Oh, and tomorrow I'm going to confront Mr. Barrow about the splinter and ask if he was watching me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (For writing, etc., tumblr = velvetoscar) 
> 
> :)


	2. October

The Diary of Jimmy Kent.

OCTOBER: THE MONTH OF CHANGE

Oct 1

6:01 am

Ok, Diary. Today is the day. I'm going to corner Barrow and demand some answers.

(where nobody can see us talking because I do not want to cause a scandal)

11:47 am

Have barely seen Barrow all day. He keeps flitting about the house, behind Mr. Carson, alongside Mrs. Hughes, even with Bates at one point!

He's clearly avoiding me. Well. We'll see about that.

10:17 pm

I am going to stick my head into a pile of dirt and never remove it again.

I confronted Mr. Barrow.

I was hanging about in the kitchen with Alfred, Daisy, Ivy, and Mrs. Patmore. Mrs. P was yelling at Daisy to stop dilly-dallying because she'd been telling me about her visit to that farm she goes to (I still can't believe she was married), which in turn made Daisy yell at Ivy to hurry up, which made Ivy cross with Alfred, who then became cross with me. It was a tense situation. And not at all my fault.

The only reason I even asked Daisy how her day had went was because of her tragically broken expression at Alfred's—quite embarrassing—flirting with Ivy (who was incidentally staring at me).

Was just about to leave the kitchen ("SCRAM, you two! Not another word out of EITHER of you, and I don't want to see your faces for the rest of the day! NOW GET ON!") when Barrow came waltzing in like he owned the place.

"Mrs. Patmore, has Mrs. Hughes given you the menu Her Ladyship requested?"

"She has. We're just started on it now."

Barrow nodded his approval and began to leave.

"And take this lot with you!" she added, staring at me specifically. "My kitchen's so cluttered I can barely fit in it!"

A half-smile tugged at Barrow's lips. "Not quite sure that's the kitchen's fault."

Daisy and Ivy looked up, jaws nearly dropped. Mrs. Patmore huffed. "Thomas…" she warned.

A brilliant smile was her reply as Barrow swiftly exited. Wow. It was rare to see a smile from him anymore. It was rare, and it was ugly.

Mrs. Patmore shook her head, sighing. "Oh, that boy. Still the same underneath it all."

Her tone was almost fond, and a half-laugh escaped her. Daisy blinked her surprise before glancing at me, and I shrugged my shoulders in response. I never really understood the staff's opinion on Barrow. Half the time I get a distinct vibe that there's a history of hatred, but I've never really witnessed anything severe enough to warrant such animosity. The other half, you'd think they were all mates for life, and that Thomas was just that silly devilish sort that you love to hate.

Mr. Barrow, I mean. Not Thomas. That's far too familiar for me to have said. Forgive my blunder, Diary.

Anyway. As I was saying, Thomas—Mr. BARROW, left and since I'd been freshly kicked out, it seemed the perfect time to follow him.

I must say, he's a very brisk walker. I had to do a slight jog to catch up!

We were just passing Mr. Carson's office when I cleared my throat confidently (the key is to establish one's authority over the situation immediately) and said, "Mr. Barrow. May I have a word?"

At this he stopped. He turned around, one eyebrow raised. He remained silent, seemingly debating within himself, before he responded with a dulled, "If it's quick. We've both got work to do."

'We've both got work to do.' There he was, coupling us together again.

He extended his hand to Carson's office door, signaling me in, his eyes cast aside in what seemed to be annoyance. This guy.

I stormed in with a huff, displeased at his frigid demeanor. Do you see what I mean now, Diary? He is TWO different people. Completely opposite of what he was before. You'd think I was a shoe rag, the way he treats me.

"Shall I close the door?" he asked, already doing so.

"Er-yes," I replied awkwardly. Establish authority. Establish authority. "Alright, you." That did not come out as authoritative as I'd hoped. It just sounded terribly awkward.

His eyebrows popped up, his eyes skimming my face. "It's Mr. Barrow, James," he replied delicately, a hint of warning laced between each word.

"Mr. Barrow," I replied automatically. Dammit! No. Authority! "Well, to the point. How did you know about the sliver?"

"Pardon?"

"The sliver."

He stared. "I'm not following."

"You know. The sliver."

He sighed and began fixing his shirt cuffs. As per usual, eyes anywhere but at me. "If this is how this conversation is going to go, I best be returning to activities that are worth my time." He shot a formal smile my way (despite his tacky insult) before turning around.

"The sliver in my hand," I replied firmly. That's it. Keep it up, Jimmy. "You couldn't have seen it when I came into the servants' hall, it was hidden! You had to have been watching me. That's the only way you could have known I'd gotten it."

He paused.

My chest puffed with encouragement. I am strong.

"You were, weren't you. That day. The day I brought in the firewood. After I'd chopped it." I marveled at the boldness of my voice.

"Well." Pause. "I don't know if 'chopped' is the right word for it," he smirked, having turned back around.

I felt my cheeks color. Rude. "So you were watching me."

He nodded unabashedly. "Yes, I was. My footman was outside before any of the other servants were even awake, chopping wood. And making a ruckus of it, mind you. Of course I was seeing what you were bloody up to. I thought you'd lost it."

Oh. Oh, well shit. I guess that makes sense, doesn't it? I'd watch if one morning Carson suddenly waltzed in the kitchen and started cooking. It would be bizarre.

I wanted to die.

"I see," was all I could say. It was my turn to avoid eye contact. (not that there was a chance of any)

"Are we done here?"

I nodded, already leaving, hoping the ceiling would cave in and crush us all.

"James."

I paused, refusing to turn around. He was probably just going to mock me.

"Perhaps next time you should try using a woodcutter's axe. Instead of a knife." Yep.

A woodcutter's axe? What the hell is that? Nobody tells me these things, how the bloody hell would I know what to use to cut wood? Did he suddenly become a lumberjack?

Still. Must cover. "I was being creative, sir. Surely you can't judge me for that."

"Of course not. I was merely suggesting a path of success." What a cocky bastard.

"I suppose it depends on how you define success." I still hadn't turned around. And thank God, because my cheeks were only growing hotter.

"Or how you define failure."

Silence.

What the hell did he mean by that? Was I supposed to reply? Was it offensive? Was he being funny? What did that mean?

"Well. Enough on this subject. Good day, James." And he walked off.

So great. Just great. Am embarrassed, foolish, and now may or may not have lost a battle of wits with Mr. Barrow. If that's what you could even call it.

A horrible way to start 'October: The Month of Change.' Just horrible.

Oct 2

5:11 am

Today's goal is to completely avoid Mr. Barrow.

And have nice hair.

Time to start changing my life!

8:29 am

Success!

Mrs. Hughes just said, "James, it appears you have an admirer."

Was weary. Surely, Mr. Barrow isn't up to that again. "Oh?"

"Indeed. I've just been speaking with Mr. Carson. It appears his Lordship said that one of the guests you served last night—Lady Wiltshire—said you did a lovely performance."

Relief. "Oh did she?" I smiled, feeling just a little smug—but well deservedly.

Mrs. Hughes smiled and leaned in just a touch. "She said you were a lovely chap with a fine manner and skill. And very fetching hair." She laughed at the comment, but kindly, and patted my shoulder. Could feel myself beaming.

"Now, you get to work before it goes to your head."

"Yes, Mrs. Hughes. Thank you."

My goal has been reached! Hair is a success!

9:38 pm

Second goal has been reached. Avoided Barrow all day. Did not exchange one word with him. Not one.

Not even when Alfred asked Mr. Carson if he could take Ivy to the pictures again, and Carson said no because he was in a gruff, then Mr. Barrow reasoned with him and said that they were all caught up with the work and had no big plans for the next day, and with the help of Mrs. Hughes, persuaded Carson to say yes.

Did not say a word then, and certainly did not say a word when, after Carson had left with the demand that Alfred return with Ivy in exactly one hour, Mr. Barrow assured them they could return whenever the picture was over, and winked at Ivy.

Did not say anything when Alfred stared, shocked, at Mr. Barrow' retreating figure, and Ivy blushed and smiled.

Did not say anything when Ivy giggled, "Well, that was jolly nice of him," and Alfred replied with, "It really was. He must not be feeling good…"

Did not say a word, but instead went upstairs to bed. I need my sleep, you see.

Haven't once thought about why he was uncharacteristically kind to Alfred. Or why he winked at Ivy. Or why even gruff, old Mr. Carson seems to be developing a soft spot for him. I haven't thought about any of this because I don't give a damn, and I showed that today by not saying one word.

No. I did not say anything to him. Nor did he to me. And it was swell.

So swell, I'm going to make it a goal for tomorrow as well.

Oct 3

6:01 am

Have decided to adjust my goal for the day.

Rather than avoiding Barrow and refusing to speak to him, I will instead work on myself. Because really, by making rules to ignore him, I am empowering him. And he deserves no power. He's already an undeserved under-butler, the last thing he needs is more power.

So. Instead, I will better myself through actions of heroic masculinity.

Every since the firewood debacle, I've been a laughing stock to Alfred. He thinks I'm even girlier than before, I just know it. Even Ivy seems distant. I mean, she went with Alfred to the pictures last night and didn't even ask me if I was going. I consider that a very large step back. Perhaps she's not attracted to me anymore?

No. I can't be silly.

It's because of Alfred.

So, 'Operation: Masculinity' is back in business. Yet, instead of forcing a bold statement (food poisoning, failed attempts at wood chopping) I am going to go the subtle route—the real route.

I've decided to subtly deepen my voice, Diary. It's already fairly deep, but it could use a drop of an octave.

Now let's see the results!

7:54 am

Have been sent back to my room by Mrs. Hughes because everybody thinks I have a cold.

Am never changing my voice again.

9:01 am

Have just taken a brief nap. I suppose a day off is just what I need, after the stress of everything in my life.

But now what to do?

9:20 am

I wonder if someone will bring me a tray? Or a 'Get Well' card? Perhaps some flowers? Lilies are my favorite.

9:43 am

What if Mr. Barrow comes? I bet he will. Any opportunity to see me in my unmentionables.

10:03 am

This day is going to last forever. I have no idea what to even do to pass the time.

10:11 am

Would I get into trouble if I just went back to work?

Alfred's probably gloating because he gets to do all my important duties. He's probably telling all the hall boys that he's the first footman. It's not like they know any better.

10:34 am

Have decided that the subtle route of 'Operation: Masculinity' is done with.

From now on, it's bold statements. Can't have another mishap like today on my shoulders.

But what more could I possibly do?

10:36 am

What if I dated Ivy?

No. No, the thought alone is offensive.

Perhaps Daisy? I bet she wouldn't even try to kiss me.

Hm. Must consider this.

10:38 am

On second thought, I can do better than a cook—well, not even—the assistant cook! No, if I'm going to fake a romance, it will be with someone who will make me look good. Even though I love all women, of course.

Do like Daisy though. Must make more of an effort to befriend her. Ever since the…'incident' with Barrow, I don't really have anyone to talk to.

He used to be my only friend—if you could call it that.

11:06 am

I've struck gold.

The next step of 'Operation: Masculinity' is an obvious one: drink hard liquor.

Not large amounts, mind you. Can't get sacked from me job! But enough to put a blush on a boy. Or a girl. Or both. I'll just swig back some whiskey (can Mr. Branson get me some?) and act completely unfazed. Then people will respect me, I'll be able to go back to normal, and nobody will ever doubt my manliness ever again.

Must fill out all details of this pl—Oh.

Someone's at my door!

11:11 am

It was Alfred.

"Here. Mr. Barrow sent me up with this tray. It's your breakfast and lunch." He practically shoved the tray in my hands.

"Thanks." Gave him a rude look. Then his words sunk in. "Er—who sent this, again?"

"Mr. Barrow. Don't worry. I told him you wouldn't touch it knowing he'd made it for you. He won't be thinking he's doing you any favors, I promise." Judging from the contortion of his face, which I presume was a smile, Alfred seemed to be under the impression he had done his good deed for the day. Which I suppose he did.

Still, felt a low ache in my stomach at his words. He'd had made it for me? I wouldn't touch it?

"Thanks, Alfred." Not.

He nodded, then left.

Cannot bring myself to touch the food. Feel sickly. Maybe I really am ill?

5:55 pm

Around four o'clock, another knock came from my door.

Not quite in the mood to see Alfred and his idiotic face, I took my time to answer it. Putting on my most irritable expression, I swung open the door.

It was Mr. Barrow.

His features were as expressionless as ever. "James," he greeted.

"Mr. Barrow," I swallowed, trying to remember what exactly I was answering the door in. (not my unmentionables, I hope!)

"I've just come to fetch your tray."

"Oh. Oh yes, of course." I stepped out of the way.

Without a word, he swooped in, immediately clearing up my mess. How embarrassing.

"Sorry," I mumbled, scratching my head. What must he think of me? I'm sure it was insulting.

"Not to worry," he smiled. With that, he headed towards the door, which I kindly opened for him.

He paused. "You feeling better?"

I nodded. "I think so, yeah." Refused to look at him.

He nodded in return, more to himself. "Would you…like me to bring you some dinner?" I noticed a flicker of something indefinable in his features. "Well, rather, have Alfred bring it to you."

"Yes," I immediately replied. I blinked, slightly startled at my own reaction. But I hoped he'd understood my answer was to the first question, not the second. I didn't want that smarmy ginger in my room anymore!

And Mr. Barrow… Well… I don't want him in my room either. But he did offer.

His expression seemed to harden, though how I could tell was a mystery since his face was plenty hard as it was.

"Right. Well, I'll send him right up. Good day, James." He left.

I stood there, jaw agape, realizing how that conversation had sounded. Wait! No! I wasn't trying to insinuate that I demanded Alfred over you because I'm scared of you and think you're creepy!

I mean, I do, of course. But I wasn't saying that at the time.

Oh, Diary. Today's been such a mess.

I just want to go back to work.

Oct 4

10:10 pm

Decided not to drink the liquor today. Was not in a very good mood.

Everybody kept asking me if I was feeling better which only made me think of how awful yesterday was. So, maybe, perhaps, snapped at Ivy. And Anna. And Bates. And O'Brien. And…at one point…Mr. Carson.

To say I am in the dog house is an understatement. Was told that I am "indecent, rude, ungrateful, and lucky to have a job, let alone the position as first footman, so you best mind your manners and toe the line if you wish to stay at this house!"

Barrow just watched. So did Mrs. Hughes. No pity for me today.

But I suppose I was being a right git.

Never leaving my bed again.

Oct 7

9:59 pm

Have been toeing the line, so am waiting to perform my liquor scheme. Will most likely be sometime this week, though.

The past couple of days have been very dull.

With the permission of Mr. Carson and His Lordship, Anna and Mr. Bates invited everybody to their cottage for dinner. Except me. Do not mind. Would rather spend my time shaving my own skin off than step foot in their love shack.

Ivy has been very clingy as of late. Perhaps deepening my voice did work after all? She keeps saying I have a nice smile. Which I do. But I don't need her to remind me of it. Am not in the mood for a proper stalker, so will need to find her a distraction.

Perhaps I'll have her shine my shoes.

Oct 8

12:51 pm

Everybody keeps saying how shiny my shoes look!

Oct 9

8:37 pm

Having Ivy care for my shoes has been the best idea I've had in years. Maybe ever. Even Mr. Carson is treating me better, and I know it's because of my shoes. They look brilliant.

The only person that has not been treating me any better is Mr. Barrow, who is still an insufferable peacock.

And after today—which may have been the most horrible day anybody could ever have on this earth—I don't think he will be any kinder.

After dinner, we were all sitting around having a chat. I was playing a bit of piano for some ambiance. Mr. Bates had mentioned that Carson was beginning to look for a new housemaid. Being the pathetic sop that he is, Alfred of course jumped on it.

"Is he now? Well, I hope she's a looker."

O'Brien gave him a severe look. "Alfred," was his warning.

"What? I don't mind saying it. This house could use a few more fair faces."

"I don't think fair faces should be your concern just yet," Anna replied mindfully, fixing the hem of one evening dress or another.

"What about you, Jimmy?" Ivy asked sweetly. Oh God. "You don't agree with Alfred, do you?"

Thanks, Ivy. Put me on the bloody spot. Everybody's eyes were on me. Well, maybe not everybody's. But there was a pale blue set at the end of the table that was almost visible through a curtain of smoke. And I could feel their judgment. It irked me to no end.

"Of course I do," I replied hotly. My eyes burned into the ones that skimmed past mine, now focused on another cigarette between his greedy, insolent lips. "I adore women. And the prettier, the better."

Ivy's smile spilled off her face. "But—but surely you wouldn't care for any of them."

Oh, I see what she's getting at. "None more than you, of course, Ivy." Her smile returned. Easy. "But if there was an attractive one…well…you know."

"What?" Alfred challenged.

I stared at him. What was he expecting me to say? "Uh…"

"I'd wrap me arm around her waist, and make sure she couldn't get away. She'd be my girl," he stated, chin slightly raised. He was making a challenge. That was a challenging statement. How dare he!

I quickly ran through the most aggressively masculine activities and sayings in my head. And came up with nothing. Could feel eyes on me though, needed to answer his challenge or would look weak, so, the thought of a dominant male dog at the forefront of my mind, I blurted out, "Well, I would pee on her."

I could not have said anything more horrifying.

Everybody stopped. All eyes stared. Even the ones at the far end, which were now visible due to a discarded cigarette.

What. Do. I. Say.

"What?" Alfred asked, horrified and repulsed.

"Jimmy…" Mr. Bates began, more concerned than anything. Which was somehow more mortifying.

"What did you just say?" O'Brien demanded.

Anna appeared to be speechless.

"I…" I looked to Ivy. She looked terrified. "I'd…be on her. You know…I'd be keen on her. I'd be keeping my eye on her so she wouldn't stray. Not from my…loving and…tender ways…" Each word was pulled out of thin air, and I'm surprised it made any sense at all.

But despite my inadequate and disjointed response, everybody went along with it immediately.

"Oh, yeah. Yeah, I'd be on her, too," Alfred said.

I saw Ivy breathe a sigh of relief in my peripherals. O'Brien's eyes clearly said, "Bitch, please" but went back to her work anyway, and Bates gave me a stern eye before returning to his conversation with a sewing Anna.

I refused to look his direction.

He probably soaked it up like a sponge. And now he's going to throw my faux pas in my face, and everybody else's for that matter. But really, the only reason he'll be rude is because he wishes I'd pee on him!

...

I can't believe I just said that again.

I don't even know what that means.

I know it's a form of dominance for dogs, but I think it's only on trees. Oh Diary, why am I even talking about this?

I am losing my mind in this place!

I can only imagine what tomorrow will bring.

Oct 10

7:41 pm

Do not understand Mr. Barrow. He goes from sweet to mean, to mean to nice, and over and over. One minute he's obsessed with me, the next he's cold and scary. I don't understand. I don't care Diary, I don't care one bit, but he needs to respect my place as first footman and SHOW SOME RESPECT.

Having said that.

Today he was suspiciously kind.

Thought for sure that he would have been rude and his usual lording-his-power-over-everybody-and-not-smiling-or-looking-at-me self, but instead he stuck up for me.

Was feeling down, so decided to sneak outside after lunch so I could write in my diary in the gardens. Was cold, but warm enough to bear, and could not resist being out since the leaves on the trees looked so lovely and the sun was warm against the fading grass and wilting flowers. Knew it was a perfect time to journal, so I made my escape.

Or so I thought.

Of course, as luck would have it, Alfred and a couple of hall boys were outside (why, I don't know. They were probably following me.). Had just sat down on a bench by a particularly mournful looking set of laurels, when Alfred pointed at me.

"Oi! Jimmy!"

I looked up to him waving at me as if I would wave back. However, no good deed goes undone. His eyes slid down to my lap. Where my journal lie. Of course.

He smirked. "You still writing in your diary, miss J?" They all laughed.

I crossed my arms, indignant. "I do as I please, Alfred."

He shook his head. "I'll never understand. Here Ivy is, fancying you, and you're not even a lady's man, are you?" Pinpricks of heat stabbed the back of my neck. "You're a right girl. A real man doesn't sit in a garden and write in his diary." My cheeks flushed, and could feel a few particles of dirt lodge themselves in my eye.

When exactly did Alfred become so vindictive? Did he only just realize how unattractive he is and decide to take it out on the rest of the world, especially us beautiful people?

Stood up, refusing to show any emotion other than supreme confidence, and was just about to answer when:

"What did you just say?"

Mr. Barrow emerged out of nowhere, Isis in tow. Where were these people even coming from? Does Barrow walk dogs now?

Was humiliated. It seems that all my most embarrassing moments are shared with Barrow as audience.

Alfred's mouth was firmly shut as he stared at Barrow.

"Alfred. What did you just say?" A none too subtle edge lined his words. I snuck a glance at his face. There was a fierceness I've never previously seen. My heart quickened, only slightly. I refused to look again.

"I said—"

"You will apologize right now."

Silence.

"I'm not asking," Mr. Barrow stated. His grip on Isis' leash tightened, knuckles whitening.

"I'm sorry, Jimmy," Alfred mumbled, looking away. His shame was apparent. Good. I still wanted to knock his teeth out and dye his hair.

"It doesn't matter of course," Mr. Barrow continued, after a pause. "He needn't your apology. Your words—the ones you so eloquently spoke—mean nothing. Jimmy," (He said Jimmy!) "is more of a man than you, Alfred, for he would not openly attack another, unprovoked." (Well. I might.) "I trust you will never speak to him—or anyone—like that again."

"Mr. Barrow, I was only just saying—"

"The next time you need to 'just say' something, you will kindly express those feelings to me. And I will deal with them accordingly."

Silence.

"Yes, Mr. Barrow."

"Now get on."

My heart was speed beating. Was he done being the Ice Queen? Had Mr. Barrow really just stuck up for me? Had I just needed Mr. Barrow to stick up for me? Oh God, I looked so pathetic.

But he'd been so nice.

But I didn't need his pity.

It was appreciated, all the same.

He must never know.

I snuck a glance at him. His eyes closed for a fleeting moment, long enough to reveal an inner conflict through the crease of his brow, his expression suggesting he was reprimanding himself internally. For helping me?

But then, just as swiftly, they were open again, and he began to walk on.

Felt that I could not just let him leave like that. Did not want to owe him anything. No, I am my own man, and I don't need his help, and I am going to make that clear by saying just the right thing.

Watching his retreating figure, I panicked. "Why do you have the dog?" I blurted out. That was not the right thing.

It stopped him though. Good.

His head tilted back in my direction. "His Lordship walks with her every day. He can't today, since Mr. Crawley has just come to show him some of the new farms they're working on."

"So…you're bringing her back?" I asked pathetically. I couldn't think of anything to say. Come on, Jimmy! Shape up!

"Yes."

Okay, so now what. I fumbled with my diary before standing up. Did not want to give him the satisfaction of walking toward him, so stayed put. C'mon, Jimmy. Tell him you don't need his help anymore. "Alfred can be such a fool," I somehow said instead. Just swell.

"Yes, well. He's still young. We're all fools at that age… I know I was." He turned around and smirked at me.

"Were you? It's hard to imagine you were anything but the serious and hardworking under-butler you are today," I said charmingly. Why did I do that? That's the OPPOSITE of telling him to shove off. (But. I suppose, since he was kind to me, I could rationalize that his reward would in turn be my winning smile and banter.)

At that, he actually laughed, and this time it reached his eyes. Felt a pinprick of something, but could not identify it. Annoyance? Disgust? Fear? Probably disgust. "I've been called many things, but never serious or hardworking. Especially at that age. I was more of a…'eat you alive' sorta chap."

Smiled at that, biting back a "That's my kind of chap," which had seemingly come from nowhere and was going to go nowhere. I suppose I could see him being a devious young sort, though. I wonder what he'd got up to? Was filled with curiosity, and was about to ask.

"But I suppose I still am," he suddenly concluded. Slowly, his smile dissipated back into serene indifference. "Well. I best go and continue with all that hard work. I suggest you do the same, James." 'James' again.

For some reason, did not want conversation to end, so said, "It's such a lovely day, though. Would hate to waste it."

He glanced at my journal. "Is that the famous diary I'm always hearing Alfred tease you about?" Always hearing? Does Alfred go around slandering me all the time?

"I don't get teased," I replied indignantly. Clutched it tighter against my chest.

His eyes slid back up to mine, before back down to Isis, whose tail was wagging fiercely while she drooled. Ew. I hate dogs.

"Are you very fond of it?" he asked.

"My journal? Of course. I love it. It lets me breathe."

Another smile twitched at his lips. "You going to pee on it, then?"

My body felt as if it had turned to ice. Oh, God. I knew he was going to throw that in my face.

Kept my composure despite the burning in my face. "That wasn't what I had said," I replied, matter-of-factly.

"Hm, of course," he replied, turning around, Isis in tow. "If only that were true. Good day, James."

Stood there for awhile, feeling quite embarrassed and cross. Who does he think he is? Helping me one minute, throwing my mistakes in my face the next!

Ugh!

Oct 11

9:01 am

Have been thinking about Barrow's actions lately.

Aside from being madly in love with me, perhaps Barrow's reason for being so accommodating and kind is because he pities me. It really does make quite a bit of sense. He's always hearing Alfred have a laugh at me, knows that nobody likes me, saw my disastrous firewood attempt, and who knows what else.

He thinks I'm weak and pathetic. And I will never be either of those things. And I will show him.

Alright. 'October: The Month of Change' is in effect NOW.

Oct 12

10:10 pm

At this point in time, I think it would be best if I just stop living.

Had my half day today. Have been thinking that I've been spending too much time alone (why else would Barrow behave so nice—he must think I have no friends) (even if I don't) so I asked Daisy to go on a walk with me, since it happened to be her half-day as well. Rarely do two of us ever have half-days together, so I considered it a real sign that things were going to start picking up for me.

She looked a little terrified, so I assured her it was just a friendly walk. Do not understand why the girl needed reassurance though. I know a certain someone who would have dug out one of her kidneys to walk with me across the room, let alone around the gardens. (Speaking of Ivy, her work on my shoes has been absolutely phenomenal—I can actually see my reflection when I look down. And one time, I caught Alfred trying to knick a bit of toast off my plate while I was turned the other way THROUGH THE REFLECTION IN MY SHOE. I think she missed her calling.) Then Daisy agreed, but kept her distance. (she doesn't think I'm attractive?)

We left the servants' hall, chatting about the day's work and weather, and were just about to start our promenade, when I saw Barrow walking with Carson, just a ways ahead, coming toward us. Took this as another sign and a golden opportunity not to be wasted, and brought Daisy right over to them ("What are you doin'? Where are we going? Stop draggin' me!") so that Barrow could see, once and for all, I have friends. And then maybe he would stop bothering me.

However. May have misjudged my gusto, and may have walked right into him.

"Oh dear! Pardon me—Oh! Why, Mr. Barrow! Mr. Carson!" I gasped in surprise, backing up and brushing myself off. Daisy stared at me.

"James," was Carson's deadpan reply.

"James," Mr. Barrow repeated, nodding at me with a frigid air. Back to being hateful, I see. "Well hello, Daisy," he added, politely smiling at the girl next to me.

Why didn't I get a polite smile? Rude.

"Mr. Barrow," she nodded in return.

"We're on a date!" I suddenly found myself practically shouting. I grabbed Daisy's hand.

Mr. Carson's jaw dropped, eyebrows furrowing in disapproval, but Mr. Barrow remained impassive. Of bloody course.

"Wha? I thought you said—" Daisy began, all big eyes and frightened lips. I squeezed her hand.

"Thought I said we wouldn't be seen? Yes, well, I didn't know Mr. Carson and Mr. Barrow were just strolling around."

"I beg your pardon?" Mr. Carson thundered. Oh shit. Must think before you speak, Jimmy.

"We were just discussing a matter with his Lordship, who is currently touring the grounds with some guests," Barrow explained calmly after it appeared Carson couldn't.

"I see," I said. Saw that he was beginning to pull his look-anywhere-but-at-me trick, so I made a point to stare directly into his eyes which were cold and matched the sky. Felt slightly ill. Presumably from the sun.

Silence lorded over us all, so I cleared my throat to break up the awkwardness, feeling hot and nauseous.

Barrow's lips twitched, their ruby hue briefly catching in the sunlight. Ugly. "Are you alright, James?" came the smirking question.

If had had pearls, I would have clutched them.

Not to insinuate I would wear women's jewelry.

But the bastard was mocking me! In front of Mr. Carson!

And what was he talking about? I was fine! I felt fine! I felt perfect!

I looked from him to Mr. Carson, both sets of eyes fixed on me, the latter in slight confusion.

"What's this, James? Have you been feeling ill?" Carson asked, obviously irked that Barrow knew something before he did.

"No, Mr. Carson, I'm quite well, thank you. But we should really get going, so I bid good day to you," I mumbled, taking Daisy by the wrist and dragging her off with me.

Could feel their eyes on my back. Decided I am never going outside again.

"What were that about?" Daisy demanded, dislodging her hand from mine. "I thought you said this was just as friends?" She looked somewhere between annoyed, terrified, and betrayed.

Poor thing. Though I can't imagine why being with me would be so undesirable.

"It is. I just…" Damn. How was I going to explain myself? Could not tell her the truth—she'd think I was mad and ridiculous, and then never speak to me again. Or worse, tell everybody. "I just wanted to tease Carson a bit. You know how he gets about romance and all that," I smiled. Oo, good job, Jimmy. Thinking on your feet!

"Oh." A small smile bloomed on Daisy. "He does get a bit funny, doesn't he?"

I nodded and we laughed, and the rest of the walk was quite enjoyable.

Until we got back.

"What were you two doing?" came a terrified and wounded voice upon our entry. Ivy. Blast.

"Ivy!" I beamed, walking toward her and removing my cap.

"What were you doing?" she repeated, firm, pinpricks of moisture in her eyes. Oh, just wonderful. She was going to cry. How attractive.

"We were out on a walk."

"I thought so!" she practically shrieked, pinpricks becoming thimbles. And there she goes.

"It's not like that!" Daisy exclaimed, twisting her hands nervously. "It were just a walk. As friends!"

"Jimmy?" Ivy asked through her tears, looking for my affirmation. This gal got worked up fast. Calm down!

Opened my mouth to respond, then considered the situation. Hm. If it did look like I had taken out Daisy, Ivy would finally stop stalking me. Not to mention, Mr. Barrow couldn't judge me anymore. Perhaps I should just…

"I knew it!" Ivy shrieked, in response to my hesitation.

Daisy looked to me, bewildered. If she were a different sort of gal, she'd have said, "What the fuck are you doing?!"

"Look, Ivy—" I began, but she had already begun storming past me.

At this moment, Mrs. Patmore, Mrs. Hughes, and Barrow himself rushed into the kitchen, blocking Ivy's exit.

"What is the meaning of this?" Mrs. Hughes demanded, taking in the scene.

"Ivy! What's wrong with ya?" Mrs. Patmore squawked less elegantly.

"Ask him! The cheat! After I've been tending to his shoes and everything!" Ivy shouted, making a spectacle of herself. And this was the exact reason I hated girls.

All eyes turned to me. Nooooo.

"What does she mean, tending to your shoes?" Mrs. Hughes looked shocked and livid. Oh damn.

"Well, I—"

"I've been shining his shoes for him, every night before I go to bed! He asked me to do it cuz he said I was his girl and—" Ivy broke off, unable to go on. Oh damn oh damn oh damn.

I've never seen someone's jaw actually drop before, but Mrs. Hughes' jaw most definitely dropped. As did Mrs. Patmore's. Barrow…well, to be quite honest, Diary, his face looked as if he was struggling to hold back laughter. He would be laughing at me, the insensitive misbegotten.

"Is this true?" Mrs. Hughes asked angrily, slowly walking toward me. I don't know how I ever thought this woman was warm. She's terrifying.

"Yes, but—"

"ENOUGH. I'll be telling Mr. Carson about this."

I nodded shamefully, briefly catching Barrow's eye. I swear a saw a twinkle in there. A twinkle of mirth. He's evil. He's evil and I know it.

"But before I go, I want to make one thing clear: you are NEVER to give orders to another soul under this roof. And if I ever hear you've been giving more crude and ridiculous tasks to Ivy just once more, you are going to be out on the streets, you ungrateful fool." With that, Mrs. Hughes left the room.

I stood there, not knowing what to say or do. Daisy was staring at me. Ivy was still crying.

"There, there, girl. This is the last thing that should be on your mind! You're still very young! It's good that you're alone!" Mrs. Patmore reasoned, sending another sob through Ivy.

Barrow, picking up on Mrs. Patmore's atrocious comforting skills, unstuck his keeping-from-laughing-like-a-jackal smile, and came forward, placing an arm around Ivy.

"There, there, Ivy. You can't take any of this to heart. Not when you're such a beautiful young lady. And so well respected and admired in this house," he smiled, his voice suffering from an identity crisis, sounding soothing and warm.

Ivy sniffled, tears still present, but looked up at Barrow, eyes shining.

"You really think so?" she sniffed.

"Of course! Any man would be proud to have you as his sweetheart. Not that you need to worry about that, of course, being a very lovely and very young lady still. Now, forget about James and his silly tricks," (Pardon me?) "and get on with the day. Idle hands are the devil's workshop," he prompted gently.

Who was this person? Did Mrs. Hughes and Barrow swap souls?

Ivy stared up at him with huge eyes, tears drying, and with a smile so large it looked like it hurt. Can't imagine why she'd feel fit to smile at a time like this. I'd just broken her heart.

"Yes, Mr. Barrow. Thank you," she smiled, her voice sweet and slightly breathless. My senses prickled. I watched as she watched his every movement, her eyes never leaving the beautiful smile that still hadn't dislodged itself from his handsome face.

Not that I would describe his face as such. I would characterize it as more grubby and deformed. As if he had Elephantitis.

"And mind you don't take it out on our Daisy. If she says nothing happened, I can assure you nothing happened." With a final nod at Daisy and one more smile, he left.

What the hell.

Mrs. Patmore stared after him. "I tell you. I've seen many things, but I will never stop being surprised."

"Mr. Barrow's ever so nice now that he's become under-butler. I hope he stays that way."

Mrs. Patmore half-laughed, shaking her head, before going back to work. "You and the rest of us, Daisy." Her eyes slid over to me. "As for you. What you still standing there for?"

"It's alright, Mrs. Patmore," Ivy said, picking up a pot to clean. You couldn't even tell the thing had just been hysterically crying. "He can stay, I don't mind. I've got Mr. Barrow, now." Her smile widened and she returned her gaze to where Barrow had just previously stood.

What did she just say?

"Ohhh, Lord." Mrs. Patmore nearly put her head in her hands. "You fancy him now? Ivy, he's—"

An innocent stare in response.

"Ah, forget it. Now clean those dishes before we miss the evening meal."

At that, I left to change into my dinner livery.

Am disgusted though, Diary. Now Ivy likes Barrow? She went from ME to BARROW?! How could she do such a thing? And how could she like him?

I swear if I see her fawning all over him, she's going to get a kettle of boiling water in her face. I don't deal with silly shenanigans at my place of work.

We are here to WORK, and that's it. This isn't a water hole, we're not hanging about. One word to Barrow, and I will take action. I will. Girl or no girl, I will deal with her and her silliness.

Only because I just find it horribly heartbreaking that she prefers Barrow to me. Is tragic because was so fond of her. Was perhaps even in love with her.

My heart may never heal after this.

Oct 14

5:31 am

Do not know how I am going to handle today. Ivy is probably going to be insufferable.

And I am going to make a point of completely ignoring Barrow. For good. Because he is obviously a phony. Who can turn his charm on and off like a switch. Sorts like that are not to be trusted.

8:56 pm

Every single time Barrow came within ten steps of Ivy today, she turned into a gelatinous, silly girl puddle. She'd giggle and smile and blush and follow him around like a lost—and hideous—puppy. I just wish I could have kicked her. The only good thing about all this is how depressed Alfred is about it.

"Mr. Barrow's so kind," she kept gushing to everyone who would hear. "Mr. Barrow just told me that I'm lovely." "Mr. Barrow just helped me with the tea because I've had such a long day." "Mr. Barrow said that he thinks I was a princess in another life because I have such nice manners." "Mr. Barrow said that he would dance with me at the Servants' Ball."

I mean, really. The Servants' Ball? That isn't until December. Calm down, girl.

At one point, while they were chattering away secretly in the corner—well, not so much as 'in the corner' as 'in passing,' and perhaps not secretly—Mrs. Patmore, after trying and failing to get her attention, said, "Why is it that every one of my kitchen maids ends up following that man around?" Oh yeah? Well your kitchen maid is about to die.

Ugh. It's disgusting.

Is interesting though—did not know Daisy had carried a torch for Mr. Barrow. Must ask her about this later.

Oct 15

12:51 pm

Just asked Daisy about her feelings for Mr. Barrow.

"Oh, yes. He were very smart looking. And so funny. And so clever. But…he turned out not to be so kind." Her eyes clouded at the memory.

Interesting.

"What happened?"

She looked up at me. "Doesn't matter. I need to get on." With that, she bustled past me.

I need to know what happened.

4:02 pm

More than needing to know what happened, I need to eliminate Ivy.

After I'd come down from serving tea upstairs, found her in the kitchen, a small handful of flowers in tow.

"What are those from?" Alfred asked, frowning.

"They're from Mr. Barrow," she beamed, stuffing them in her face. Pathetic.

"What?" Alfred asked cuttingly, face livid.

"Ivy, put those down and get to work. And you lot, get out of here!" Mrs. Patmore commanded, and we all scampered.

Alfred caught me by the arm as soon as we were out of earshot.

"This is bloody ridiculous, him givin' flowers to her when we know what he really is," Alfred bumbled angrily. Winced slightly because even in extreme anger, Alfred sounds like a dumb ape. Is ugly to hear.

"You're telling me," I replied, shooting a glance at the kitchen. "She's pathetic."

"Her? What about him? He doesn't even like girls!" he whispered with disgust.

Felt myself prickle slightly. "Yea, well. His disgusting habits aren't our concern."

"They are when he's after me girl. I'm going to tell her about him."

"Don't even think of it!" I hissed. I blinked, slightly startled at my own reaction. Alfred eyed me, so I cleared my throat and lowered my voice to a calming timbre. "It'll just start up all that unnecessary rubbish again. It won't do her any good. Just keep quiet, and try to get her to fancy ya! YOU should be the one picking her flowers and telling her she was a princess, n all that. And do it quickly, before they go n get bloody married!" I finished angrily, feeling my muscles tense at the very thought.

Alfred gave me a quizzical look. "What are it to you?" he asked suspiciously.

Good question.

I think, Diary, it's just my natural reaction to my pride having been wounded. Like I said, I was probably in love with it—I mean, her.

"I'm just sick of seeing your soppy face," I grumbled, before heading off to the servants' hall.

The whole thing is just atrocious, Diary. She acts like he proposed, when all he did was give her some grubby flowers from a field.

Then, again. How could he have? The weather's been so cold, the flowers are all dying. …. Surely he couldn't have bought them?

No.

He would never buy Ivy flowers.

He doesn't care for her—how could he? She's just the silly one. She's obsessed, throwing herself at him every minute. Hah! If only she knew. She may think she's some prize, but all she has for herself at the end of the day is a handful of dying weeds, when I got a kiss. I don't see him sneaking into her room at night!

Oh dear God, what am I saying?! I can't believe I just mentioned that, Diary! It repulses me so much to even think about. Will perhaps have to burn this page.

Disgusting. Disgusting, disgusting!

Am never speaking of Mr. Barrow again.

Oct 20

10:29 pm

Well, Diary, it's been awhile. Not much to say. Alfred dropped a serving fork on Lady Edith yesterday during supper. Was quite funny as it hit her head then fell on her lap, but managed to keep all humor within myself since I could feel Carson's eyes on me. Must keep in his good graces.

Mrs. Hughes has been a lot kinder. Was afraid she hated me after Ivy spilled about the shoe shining, but today she asked me if I was alright cuz I looked a bit down. Told her I was fine, because I am fine, and she moved me along, her eyes not looking all that convinced.

Ivy is still insufferable.

Alfred is still failing at his attempts to woo her.

And I have been doing an excellent job of avoiding Barrow. Has been easy, since he's been spending a lot of time with Mr. Bates and Anna. Find it slightly funny because though Barrow and Anna seem to get on quite well, he and Bates often butt heads. Still, they seem to be quite civil, almost kind at times. Which is good for me, because then I can happily avoid him and need not speak one word. Like I said, I've been doing excellent job of steering clear.

Until today.

It was later, and Mr. Carson had just told us all to go to bed. Was thankful, because did not feel like hearing O'Brien yelling at Molesley anymore (I guess he accidentally spilled some tea on a fabric she'd been working on? The poor thing looked terrified.) so I began making my way to the stairs, when suddenly heard a giggle. Looked over, and there Ivy was with Barrow.

Of bloody course.

They exchanged a few more words before he bid her goodnight. Practically floating, the dumb cow rushed up the stairs. He, on the other hand, made his way to the door.

Intrigued, I sort of followed. Not really followed, but kept an eye on him. And moved accordingly.

Saw him open the door to outside and duck out. Hm. Interesting. Could not, would not follow him, so planted myself at the window in the hall and watched his dark figure skulk to the side wall. Was only watching in case he got up to trouble.

A moment of nothing, just complete darkness; then suddenly a dim spark of fire, followed by a plume of smoke. He was smoking. How original.

I watched his barely visible movements under muted moonlight. There he was. Unaffected. Making the world look easy, one drag at a time.

After a couple minutes—seconds, really—I decided to leave, feeling a mix of frustration and….something claw at my chest cavity. Hurried upstairs to bed before anybody could see me.

I'd found his little hiding spot. I'd found it, and I will make sure to never go near it. I despise that man and all that he represents. Is not even a man, but a shadow, dark and silent, buried within his own smoke. Hate him.

Oct 21

9:01 pm

Carson announced that Lady Mary is pregnant today. Think he may have been about to cry, and was jolly nice for the rest of the day. Even caught him whistling at one point.

Don't care much, but I suppose I'm happy for her and Mr. Crawley.

Saw that Barrow didn't look all that pleased as everybody sat back down. Could hear Anna asking him what was wrong.

"Nothing, I'm very happy for them." For being such a good liar, he really did mess it up once in awhile.

"What is it?" she prodded further, concerned.

A pause. "I just think of Lady Sybil." There were no other words after that.

Don't care. Don't care, don't feel bad for him. Don't care.

Oct 23

7:21 pm

Alfred is such a git. Does not understand romance.

Today he told Ivy, "I like you more than Mr. Barrow does," as though that was some profound declaration of love.

She just looked at him. "Don't be daft, Alfred. Mr. Barrow's very kind to me."

"So am I!" he said helplessly.

His only response was a small smile, before she went back to scrubbing. That bloke has absolutely no idea how interact with others. Both detest and pity him.

Avoided Barrow all day yesterday, and so far today. But he's too busy licking Carson and Mrs. Hughes' boots to notice, anyway.

11:00 pm

Feel sick.

And confused.

And angry.

And sick.

See, Diary, ever since I discovered Barrow's super secret, nightly smoke spot, I have been, well… Perhaps just spying a tiny bit every night. He goes there, without fail, every single night after Carson tells us all to go to bed. He's defying the rules, really. Will not tell on him though because Carson has much more important things to worry about.

Well, today I had been slightly annoyed because Ivy was going around saying that Mr. Barrow had promised to take her to the fair that was coming up. This, of course, devastated Alfred.

"Now who am I going to go with?" he asked desperately. Daisy gave him a pointed look.

Could not think about such frivolous things as Alfred, though.

Mr. Barrow had asked Ivy to the fair? What is this world coming to? Why on earth was he suddenly acting like he's courting her? Was absolutely furious. All the more so, because she kept making little comments and giggling—no matter how many times Mrs. Patmore told her to shut it.

I ended up thinking about it all through serving dinner, which only made me angrier. How could he just ignore me, pretending I am just a particle of dust floating uselessly in his way, and then parade Ivy around? Sure, maybe it was me who was avoiding him. I'll give him that. But this works two ways! If he wanted to talk to me, he could. But he's not. He's talking to Ivy.

Ivy. 

It's abominable, and I have every right to be furious over this unjust treatment. After all, I am first footman, and she's a lowly kitchen maid—to be neither seen, nor heard. Unlike me. I'm supposed to be seen AND heard. Well, maybe not heard. But definitely seen.

Ugh.

Did not feel any better at the end of the day, so decided to play piano as an excuse to avoid speaking with anybody.

Was just beginning to feel better when Carson announced, "Alright, up to bed, everyone," in his commandingly clean way.

I paused before getting up from the piano. Everybody was filing out, bits of chatter wafting through the air, until there was nobody and it was silent.

Immediately, my mind went to the cold, smoke-tinged night air and the man I knew was there. Breathing his poison, features relaxed and unconcerned, while I was here, unhappy, hair dull (I haven't been putting much thought into it lately) and completely alone. I didn't have anybody to go to the fair with. I didn't have anybody at all.

Without thinking, I stormed outside.

Upon hearing the door, Thomas straightened slightly, head snapping to me. If he was shocked to see me, his features never revealed it.

"James," he admonished in his professional tone.

"What you think you're doing with Ivy?" I snarled. Calm down, Jimmy. Calm down. He is your superior.

He took a long drag, studying my face before exhaling painfully slowly. My frustration grew.

"What's it to you?" Oh, well, not so professional now, are we?

"It's bloody ridiculous. We all know you don't fancy her."

"You don't fancy her, either."

Well, shit.

"No…" I struggled, feeling a blush, "But that's different. I never asked her to the fair. I never gave her flowers or told her she were a princess, or any of that rubbish you've been doing. What are you trying to do? Are you trying to say something?" I knew I was acting too aggressive, but could not hold back the weeks of anger that I had pent up. And I sounded damn good.

Yet, despite my rage, he never once blinked, still leaned nonchalantly on the stone wall. "Did it ever occur to you that I'm doing it for her, not me?"

I blinked. What?

"The poor girl had her heart broken. Rather easily, yes, but it was broken all the same. I know what that's like." His eyes cut into mine, almost as harshly as his words had.

Felt even colder and a sick feeling grew within my stomach and chest. Felt as though I were on the verge of panic, and could think of nothing to respond with.

Why did he have to say that?

"If you're here for Ivy's sake, James, I assure you, it's all harmless. Just something to distract her until she sets her eye on someone else. She's young, she'll have no problem of it." His tone was mechanical, as if he were reading a schoolbook.

Still could not find the words to speak. Felt so sick, and wanted to crawl into a hole. Why did I have to come out here?

"Besides, I think it's better than shining shoes." At that I glanced up, seeing a small smile on his lips. "Good night, James." And he was gone.

I don't know how long I stood there. I just kept hearing his voice in my head, over and over. "The poor girl had her heart broken. I know what that's like." 

I know what that's like. 

Eventually found my way to my room, then my bed.

Is obviously a liar. He doesn't have a heart to break.

Oct 24

7:01 am

Had horrible dreams. Do not want to repeat them.

Can still hear Barrow's voice in my head. Can still see his eyes when I close mine.

Am going to focus on myself from now on, Diary. October is almost over and I still haven't changed. Alfred hasn't called me a girl in awhile, but now nobody likes me, so that must mean that am not manly enough. Really must get around to drinking that hard liquor. Good graces or not, I need to protect my image.

And I need to stay away from Barrow. For good this time.

Oct 27

9:36 pm

The fair is next week. Have asked Daisy to go with me. Am excited. Will be a perfect opportunity to drink hard liquor and do my hair. Will perhaps even bring some flowers.

Should I get some for Daisy, too?

Alfred says he's going with the new housemaid. Stella? I think that was her name. She's a pretty little thing, and far too nice for Alfred. Want to warn her about his awkwardness but am afraid. Every time I go near her, she looks at me as though I were a slab of meat. Am used to such looks, but hers seems even more frightful than usual…

Ivy's still going with him. Do not mind though. May have accidentally thrown my tea in her lap to the horror of Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes ("James! Be more careful!"), but do not mind. Am happy for them. And he was right. Though I can't believe I put that in writing.

But I suppose since I'm already at it, I should also put in writing, just for the record, that Ivy Stuart is ugly.

Oct 29

11:35 am

Today, Barrow and I left our room at the same time. Was horrified at his boldness, so made sure to walk by him in a very aggressive manner.

Oct 30

4:41 pm

I give up. I absolutely give up.

I spilt tea on the Dowager today. Was handing her her teacup when Barrow suddenly entered the room with Carson. Perhaps got a little distracted and dropped the cup in her lap.

Tea.

Everywhere.

"Oh! Heavens!" came her boisterous reply, hands thrown up.

Carson was furious, and sent me away.

Am now in my room, not crying.

5:23 pm

Praise the Lord!

After I pulled myself together from the disastrous teatime, I returned downstairs, dressed for dinner. Immediately saw Carson and shrunk away, but he caught up to me before I could hide.

"James."

Oh no.

I turned around, slowly. "Yes, Mr. Carson." Here goes.

"I regard your earlier activity as highly unprofessional, not to mention dangerous." Dangerous? "While I feel that you should be demoted to second footman—" I shrieked on the inside "—His Lordship feels that you have nothing to worry about and says…" Carson pursed his lips, obviously distressed over what he was about to say. He cleared his throat and refused to look at me. "He says that you are doing a fine job as first footman, and not to worry about today's incident."

I gawked. What?

Spluttering, I could only manage a, "Thank you, Mr. Carson," before he harrumphed and walked away without another the world.

I cannot express how wonderful this is, Diary. I thought for sure I was going to be SEVERELY punished! Love His Lordship. After he had let Barrow stay on had decided to hate him, but now love him very, very much. Is a very kind and intelligent man.

I must thank him. That is the most kindness I've received in weeks! No—months!

But how?

Oct 31

9:21 am

Have come up with the best, most plausible way to thank His Lordship.

I've written him a note and left it on his bedside table in his room.

It said:

My Lord, 

Thank you for your kind words yesterday. Carson had passed them on, and they were immensely appreciated. I promise such an incident will never occur again, and I will do my best to bring honor to this house. 

Sincerely,

James. 

Am so clever.

11:37 am

Something has just occurred to me.

I'm not allowed in His Lordship's room. Or anywhere upstairs.

Am I going to get into trouble for this?

4:49 pm

Got into trouble.

Was around luncheon that Carson came up to me and asked to see me in his office. Alfred and all the hall boys made noises of foreboding and teased me. Ignored them, and kept my head held high, despite dying inside.

Upon entering, Carson closed the door. Never a good sign.

With a sigh, he walked to his desk and sat down. He looked up at me from his bushy brows (he really does need to trim those things).

"James. Did you leave this in His Lordship's room?"

My note was on the table. (He didn't want it?)

Already knowing there was no hope, I hung my head. "Yes," I admitted with defeat. I. Am. Done.

"Need I remind you that are not allowed anywhere NEAR His Lordship's quarters? Or anywhere upstairs, for that matter, no matter WHAT the circumstances. Is that clear?" I wonder if there was ever a time when Carson's voice didn't sound like it was severely judging someone.

"Yes, Mr. Carson," I mumbled. Wanted to cry.

"And why would you leave him a note? Have you any idea how inappropriate that is?"

Well, now that he says it… I suppose it wasn't that great of an idea. Oh, Lord. Kill me now.

I remained silent.

"How did you even manage it? Surely someone must have seen you."

Felt a shot of panic through my grief. Did not want to get into any more trouble. Without thinking, I replied, "Someone did it for me."

"Who?"

"Mr. Barrow."

A lead weight dropped in my stomach. What. Did. I. Just. Say.

WHAT DID I JUST SAY?

"Mr. Barrow?" Carson spluttered. With that, he stood up and left the room, looking as if he were on a mission. Which I'm sure he was.

Wanted to die right there on the spot. Why did I say that? Why would I have done that? Had made a promise with myself to never speak of Mr. Barrow again, and here I am, dragging him into my affairs! Worse still, he was probably going to get in trouble! I already almost made him lose his job, now I'm doing it again! And after all those times he's helped me…

I am a disgusting, horrible, evil, vile insect that should be squashed.

I heard doorsteps behind me.

And then a voice.

That voice.

"What? What note in his Lordship's room?" Felt dead inside as he entered the room.

As soon as I saw his face, I heard his bloody voice in my head again.

"The poor girl had her heart broken. I know what that's like." 

Felt so sick.

"James says that you put this in His Lordship's room for him." Carson handed the note to Barrow, who's normally impassive face looked utterly bewildered.

I watched as his eyes darted across the words. He was probably laughing at me.

He had every right to.

Upon finishing it, he handed it back to Carson.

"Well?" Carson pressed.

I refused to look at him, but kept my head down, wishing there was some way I could vanish into thin air forever. Could hear my heart beat.

Here it comes. I'm going to be dismissed.

"Yes, Mr. Carson. I did deliver this for James."

I almost puked in my mouth.

What?

My head shot up, and I stared at his expression. No longer bewildered. Back to serenity.

"Why on Earth would you do such a thing? You know better than that," Carson scolded.

"I felt it was kind. I saw no harm in it, and believed His Lordship would appreciate the sentiment." Barrow paused, then tilted his head slightly. "Did he?"

"Did he what?"

"Appreciate the message?"

Carson shifted somewhat uncomfortably. "I dare say he did. But that is not the point," he sniffed.

Barrow smiled. "Of course it is. Now, I promise I won't be delivering any more messages, but I think we can leave James be for today, can't we? He's still young yet, but he meant well this time." This time?

Carson sighed and looked me up and down with disapproval. "I suppose. Though why on Earth you would help him is beyond me." He left.

Leaving just me and Barrow. And my shuttering, panicked, guilty heart.

"Mr. Barrow—" I began.

"No need."

I looked to him, afraid. A hint of…hurt?...lingered in the corners of his eyes, which were staring downward. He remained still.

"I'm didn't mean—" I began, but once again, more insistently, he cut me off with a:

"No need."

Feeling sick and not knowing what to do, I left.

Hate him, Diary.

Hate that he covers for me when I don't deserve it, hate that he courts Ivy to make her feel better because I broke her heart, hate that he persuades Carson to be more lenient toward me, hate that he ignores me, hate that he acts normal with everybody else except me, hate that it's all my fault, and hate that I can't, and won't, be able to talk to him ever again.

Am done.

Luckily, the fair is tomorrow. Am going to drown self in alcohol, impress everybody, and hopefully forget the world, myself, and Mr. Barrow.

Hopefully November turns out better than this month.


	3. November

The Diary of Jimmy Kent

November

Nov 1

6:31 am

Am emotionally ready for tonight. Still need to get some essentials (the liquor) but am ready on the inside—which is what matters the most.

Must tell Daisy that we need to go the fair separate from the others. Cannot risk being around Mr. Barrow. Am done with him, Diary.

I mean it this time!

Just thinking about yesterday still makes me feel very sick. No good comes from us. Can still hear his cold tone and see his sad eyes. And keep thinking of how I just left him there...

No! Will not waste my time thinking about unessential burdens.

Am excited for tonight, am emotionally ready, and am very excited. Jolly excited. Yes.

10:09 am

Of. Bloody. Course.

Tried to tell Daisy we needed to go separate from the others after breakfast. Key word: tried.

"Daisy, I was hoping that tonight we—"

"Oh yes, I already said we would!"

Pardon? "You said we would what?"

She looked at me in surprise. "Oh, I thought you were talking about going with everybody tonight. Ivy asked me. I thought she asked you, too."

White hot panic. "Everybody?" Oh please, no. Oh please, oh please, oh please—

"Yes—me, you, Alfred, Stella, Ivy, and Mr. Barrow." She looked pleased with herself. I could have thrown her. My horror must have been apparent on my face, for she quickly added an "I thought it'd be nice."

She looked so small and forlorn with her big eyes, grubby clothes, and eczema, could not be mad at her.

I sighed. "And it will be. I'll see you tonight." If I don't throw myself off this building before.

Am no longer emotionally ready for tonight.

But what can I do? It's not as if I can avoid Mr. Barrow forever. (if only the world was so beautiful…)

3:17 pm

Had some free time after luncheon so was able to sneak out to the village.

Purchased the scariest, manliest, butchest bottle of something-or-other that I could find. Am very excited. It's black and medium-sized and has a big, brown label on it. Is very intimidating for a beverage. Have been practicing my poses with it in the mirror (to assure that I achieve the highest level of intimidation possible; can't have anything going amiss tonight!) and am almost intimidated by my reflection! This plan is fool-proof, Diary. Cannot wait to drink it in front of everyone and convince one and all—at last—that I am a proper man.

Have also purchased a lovely new jacket that goes nicely with the bottle, as well as my cap. Best yet, I got it at a discount!

And better still, on the way back, a kind, elderly bag lady said I was a "very pretty young thing." Would maybe not have used the term 'pretty' to describe myself in public—ruggedly handsome springs to mind first—but will not look a gift horse in the mouth. (I feel I should mention at this point that she did look uncannily similar to a horse. Oh, to be ugly.)

Things are falling into place! Perhaps there is hope for me yet.

4:15 pm

Just told everybody about my new jacket. I hate my coworkers.

"Why'd you get a new jacket?" Daisy immediately asked.

Poor thing. Is so simple minded that she cannot understand the value in fine things. But it's not all that surprising. She's two steps away from wearing a potato sack, for heaven's sake. The prettiest thing she's seen is a bushel of vegetables.

"Because it's nice," I enunciated very kindly. Am very good at dealing with slower sorts because I have a lot of patience and a gentle demeanor.

"I wouldn't waste me money on a jacket," Alfred said with a superiority that was comical in its misplacement. Leave it to him to say idiotic things and think he's being quick.

I took the high road and ignored his existence, and announced that I was going to wear it tonight.

So of course Ivy then says, "I wonder if Mr. Barrow got a new jacket for tonight?"Honestly, Diary, I don't even know why she speaks sometimes.

I glowered. "Even if he did, a jacket can't fix ugly."

Maybe should not have said that, so immediately left before I fell victim to the wrath of Patmore. Am sick of being banned from the kitchen.

Hope tonight is fun. I know that I'm stuck with a bunch of nitwits and a man with no soul, but hope it is fun all the same.

6:41 pm

Carson has officially let us all off for the day! Am all set. Have on my new jacket (which my liquor is inconspicuously stored in), have pretty hair, and wore my manliest trousers.

I have one major goal for tonight, Diary: to avoid Mr. Barrow at all costs. Cannot fall into his clever pit of emotional blackmail. No, from now on, it's Solo Jimmy.

Well, here goes. Let's hope this will set the mood for the rest of the month!

Nov 2

4:21 am

Sweet death, please take me.

Am never drinking again.

I don't even remember how I got back here. Or what even happened. All I remember is….

Oh, God. I think I'm going to be sick.

4:51 pm

Do not feel much better even though it's almost the end of the day. Think perhaps I am dying, which would be for the best. Have been irritable and vicious all day. Have snapped even more at Alfred, and just told Ivy she were as dumb as a bottle.

Will need to go down to serve dinner soon, but had to sneak up here so I could record the absolute nightmare that was last night. Really, should not be recording it because do not want to remember it, but is weighing on my mind so feel I must share…

When I had come downstairs to meet the others, was just consoling myself with the thought that, since there was a fair number of us, it would be less awkward to completely avoid Barrow.

Then a very cross looking Daisy came up to me. "Alfred said he wants to go with Stella on his own. So they already left."

WHAT. "On his own?" I panicked. "Why? Did he say why?!"

She eyed me. "Um. No..."

Pfft. He didn't have to. It was plain as day that he was just trying to keep Helga (Stella?) away from me cuz he finally woke up and saw that she CLEARLY fancied me more than him.

Needless to say, Diary, I was not pleased. And only became less so as Ivy floated in with an old man—oh, I mean, _Mr. Barrow_ , her hand on his arm in a vice-like grip.

"Are you ready?" she asked us. I refused to look at either of them.

"Yes," I replied, and took Daisy and marched onward.

Refused to speak on the walk there.

When we arrived at the fair, was feeling a fair bit better and more confident. I looked stunning in my jacket and with Daisy on my arm, I looked even better. (I had her dress in her finest clothes so that she might look a little less shabby when standing next to me. Am always thinking of others.)

"Well, Daisy. Would you like to go on a ride?" I asked charmingly, giving her my best smile.

Unfortunately, she was looking past me. (Do not understand. Think perhaps she really is a little slow, because there is no other reason she'd be keen on Alfred AND Mr. Barrow, but not me.) She looked excited and amazed. Confused, I turned around.

And almost died on the spot.

Oh Mother Mary.

There, in front of us, were about seven men on stilts, half of them breathing fire. Felt my body turn rigid.

You see Diary, there is nothing in this world that I fear. Except stilts. And anything attached to them.

"Can we go have a look?" Daisy asked, all hopeful eyes and adorable clasped hands. Dammit.

"Er—of course!" I attempted a smile large enough to fill my face, leaving no room for the panic that was quickly building.

"Can we go as well?" Ivy asked eagerly, turning to Barrow. Oh, joy.

He looked amused. "I can see them from here," he teased. Ivy playfully rolled her eyes, taking Barrow by the hand.

Well someone's a bold little harlot.

He smiled, gently extricating his hand from her nasty, greedy ones. "I'll stay. Get on with the rest of them." He nodded toward me and Daisy. "I'll be here when you get back." A charming grin followed his brief sentences, leaving little space for want of argument. Ivy practically swooned. Because she's weak.

"Alright. It won't take a moment," she promised as if he cared.

He nodded, and we began to walk away from him (praise the Lord), Daisy's hand on my arm. Felt very suave and gentlemanly despite my extreme fear and discomfort.

"I've never seen stilts men before," Daisy said. "It's quite exciting, innit?"

I chose to remain silent.

"Have you ever seen them before, Jimmy?" Ivy asked. Ever since Daisy assured her there was nothing but friendship between us, she's been much more civil towards me. I suspect her newly found obsession with Barrow had something to do with it as well. She's a fickle jezebel, and I don't mind saying it.

"No." Could not bring myself to go further.

We were fast coming upon the ghastly spectacle. Men with grotesquely painted faces wearing rags that were equal parts filthy and gaudy danced before us, some emitting great bursts of flame from their gaping mouths. All the while perched upon long, sinewy, spidery legs that possessed an eerie and warped familiarity. I hate stilts.

I _hate_ them.

Felt the panic rise in my chest.

We were getting closer…

(some were walking in my direction)

…and closer…

(began to hear the reverberating clumps of their great feet hitting the ground)

…and closer….

(it was all too much!)

…and—

"Oh no!" I suddenly yelled, freezing in place.

Daisy almost tripped at my abrupt stop, and Ivy jumped. A few faces near to us turned around. Didn't care.

"What is it?" Daisy asked fearfully, looking at me like I was crazy.

"I can't go any further." Must not admit why. Must not admit why.

"Why not?" Ivy asked, concerned.

Blast.

I am a strong man. I am a strong man. I am a strong man. (I was gonna need to whip out that alcohol as soon as I could after this. Hell, I was going to have to drink for the rest of my life after today.)

"I just realized…" What? What did I just realize? Think, Jimmy, think! Both sets of eyes looked at me expectantly. "…that….my new coat is highly flammable!" Not very good.

"What?"

"I know," I laughed nonchalantly. "It's the strangest thing. But the clerk said I wasn't to go anywhere near fire. Anywhere. He even recommended I stay out of the same village as fire. He said it were that severe." In no way, shape, or form was this believable.

Daisy was giving me a look. "I'm sure it's not—"

"I will catch fire."

Judging from their expressions, they had absolutely no idea how to react to what I was telling them. Oh lord, where was Mr. Barrow when I needed him?

No! I do not need him.

I plowed on fearlessly. "It's much too dangerous, Daisy. I, of course, am not worried about myself, but would not want to cause a panic were I to suddenly catch fire. It could mean them having to shut down the fair. And we don't want that now do we?" I grinned, praying through my teeth that they believed me.

"That's kind of you, Jimmy," Ivy smiled. Success.

Daisy's eyes began to fill with worry. "Oh my. Well, if that's true, you best get back and wait with Mr. Barrow then. Just in case." Ew.

But needs must.

"I believe you're right, Daisy. I'll be waiting for you just there." Smiled, then retreated. Took every single power within me not to run.

As I was coming upon Barrow, I suddenly remembered my goal for the night.

Oh no.

What if he tried to talk to me? Then I'll have to respond because he is my superior, but in doing so, would be breaking my own personal goals I've made to better myself! Must avoid all verbal communication with that man!

Fearing his attempts to engage me in such activities, I stopped short of him, turned my body away, and did the only thing I knew that would prohibit interaction.

I loudly, and beautifully, whistled.

Now he would understand that I was not looking for conversation. Knew that he was going to try anyway because he likes to hear his voice, but this way I was making my position on the matter clear.

Continued whistling, bracing myself for his silken voice.

Whistled.

Whistled more.

Whistled still more.

…

And all the while…nothing.

Odd. Perhaps I just couldn't hear him over the sheer volume my whistles are capable of?

Yes, I'm sure that's it.

Whistled a touch more quietly.

Whistled.

Whistled.

Nothing.

Felt that I was still at it a bit too boisterously, so lowered my volume a tad more.

Nothing.

Lowered it more.

Nothing.

Was barely a whistle anymore. Just me blowing air through my lips. What on Earth?

Decided to stop whistling altogether.

Still nothing.

Surely, there was something wrong. Of course he would have tried to speak to me, if only to be the uppity, professional, under-butler that he is. Yes, he probably said multiple things. I just must not have heard him.

Yes.

Time dragged on in silence.

Began to feel a slight frustration.

Well if he wasn't speaking to me, he must be….staring at me! Yes, that's it! He was probably staring! Here I was, practically an exhibition right before his eyes! He was ogling me. Could feel his bold and intrusive stare invading my privacy.

Well. I will not stand for such things.

Without warning, I spun around, ready to make a scene.

"You know—" I began, but immediately fell silent.

He was reading a book.

He. Was reading. A _book_.

How tragic.

Snorted, unimpressed. "Well, you're a fun time," I scoffed.

Silence.

I prickled slightly. "I don't know too many people who would have their nose stuffed in a book at a _fair_ ," I said a little louder.

Nothing.

I prickled a little more. How dare he ignore me! And in public! "WELL. What is it that you're reading, then?"

"Your diary," he replied without hesitation.

Shrieked.

No—not shrieked. Roared. I roared.

Beneath eyes that never left the page, the infamous smirk appeared.

Was about to rip mine own precious journal out of his hands and beat him to death with it, when suddenly caught sight of the thing.

Was navy blue.

…

My journal's periwinkle.

Squinted, and saw the blasted thing had a title— _Dracula._

He _would_ read a novel about an undead man who sucks the life out of others. Have never read it myself, but have heard much about it. Am told it's _very_ scandalous.

Still, felt my face redden considerably.

"Only joking," he said calmly, smirk widening into a near-smile.

"I didn't believe you, anyway," I snapped.

His smile widened, eyes still caught within the pages of his stupid bloody novel.

I glanced briefly in his direction. "Still don't understand why you're reading it, though. Or why you even brought it, for that matter."

"Not much else to do right now, is there?"

Good point.

"You could've gone with them." I nodded toward Daisy and Ivy and….those things.

"So could you have."

Good point.

"Yes, well," I said, turning away.

"I must say." I stiffened at his tone. "I didn't know that the very brave and manly James would be so scared of something as silly as a couple of blokes standing on sticks."

My body almost went into shock.

 _What_ did he just say?

Where did THAT come from? Was there a bloody sign on my body? Could he read minds?! How the hell does he know these things about me? (But he _did_ call me brave and manly…)

"I am NOT afraid!" I squawked. "I could catch fire, that's why I can't join them! The jacket I purchased is extremely flammable, and the clerk said I was not to go anywhere near fire. And, as you can see, they are breathing fire! Otherwise, I would be right there beside them, because there is nothing on this earth that I fear."

His smile widened even more. "Then why all the fuss." It wasn't a question.

Began to feel intense anger. "I'm not fussing."

"Oh?" was his infuriating reply.

Reached the point of boiling. "You don't know me—you know NOTHING about me—so stop bloody acting like you do!" I spat. Heart was beating fast, and realized my hands were balled into fists, knuckles tight. Felt whispers of pinpricks which I attributed to the nails digging into my palms rather than the annoying-but-still-slightly-present guilt that had suddenly immerged within.

Avoided his eyes and unclenched my fists. Was not embarrassed. Or ashamed. And most certainly did not feel impolite.

There was a beat of silence. Just one. And then:

"Perhaps you're right." The smirk was gone.

' _No, I'm not,_ ' a voice within me said automatically. I shut it up.

As the silence ebbed on and there was still no sign of Daisy or Ivy, I began to succumb to the fact that I may have been feeling slightly guilty. After all, though Barrow and I may not get on, cannot deny that I do owe him at least some respect. For a number of reasons. Yesterday being one of them.

Must say something.

Needed to be smooth here. With my eyes fixed ahead on what appeared to be the bearded lady—or was that Mr. Bentley from The Grantham Arms?—said, "I am right. But… I suppose you may know a _little_ bit about me." There. That would fix things.

Heard his book snap shut.

Immediately looked over, startled, and became even more so at what I say.

For the first time since I can't remember when, Barrow looked human, his face full of frustration. He was half-glaring at me.

"Do _you_ even know yourself?"

What? "Of course I do."

"Then just bloody tell me. What are you _doing_?" There was almost a pleading within his irritation, his eyes hard and creased.

Stared at him, unsure how to respond. What does he mean, what am I doing? I'm trying to be kind. Is that a criminal offense now?

Before I could reply, his features dissolved into stone again, and the human was once again overcome by the statue. He returned to his novel.

"Never mind. Just let me read in peace."

Read in peace? So he did hate me. Stared at him, feeling queasy. He never cared for me at all, did he? All the nice things he said and did… It was just out of obligation, wasn't it? Since Carson and His Lordship allowed him to stay on. He really did hate me. Because of what I did.

It's my fault.

Felt almost dizzy, still staring at his hardened features, before I had to look away.

The jerk. No, I'm the jerk. NO—he's the jerk! But it is my fault. But he makes it worse! But I started it. But he propels it! Yeah. Yeah, it's HIS fault! I'm trying to make amends and he's telling me to shove off! The arrogant bastard!

Was just considering picking up a pile of dirt and throwing it in his face when I heard:

"Oi! Jimmy!"

"Alfred." I swear I tried my best, Diary, to sound happy upon seeing him.

He immediately motioned me over. Without a backward glance at the audacious, mind-reading sneak behind me, I stomped onward.

"Alfred," I greeted again before nodding to his companion. What was her name again? Was it Stella or Bella?

Noting my vacant expression, she filled in the blank with a "Stella."

"Stella," I repeated. (Cannot believe her name is actually Stella as it is hideous. Think she may have made it up.)

"What you doin' with him?" Alfred asked in low tones, glaring in Barrow's direction.

Shifted uneasily. Not this again. "What you mean?" I asked defensively.

"Hanging about with him? Alone?" The implications in his tone made me want to sock him in the face.

Stood to my fullest height and looked him square in the eye. "We're waiting for Daisy and Ivy to get back from watching the…" Shuddered slightly. Did not want to say their name, so nodded in their direction.

Stella looked at me quizzically. "The stilt people?"

I hid my horror and nodded brusquely.

She giggled and that hungry look began filling her eyes again. Oh God. Looked away quickly.

"You shouldn't be hanging about. Not after what happened."

Despite the fact that I completely agree, felt my muscles tense ever so slightly.

Stella perked. "What happened?" (Note to self: must rename her. Perhaps Octavia?)

A wave of heat washed over me. Oh, that bleeding idiot.

Alfred looked down at her, leaning in just a smidge. "You see—"

"Think nothing of it," I cut in firmly, staring hard at B—Stella, before shooting a look of pure hatred at Alfred.

Who, of course, was oblivious to it. "Well, you should come with us and steer clear of him, or someone might think you enjoy that sort's company," he said, sounding as if he believed he were actually giving good advice.

Still, felt a small sense of panic at his words. What if he had a point? Do not like to talk to Barrow in public because…well…you know, Diary. But here I was, in the middle of a highly populated area, chattering away till the cows came home! There were probably whispers everywhere about us.

Everybody was probably looking at me.

I could feel their eyes.

Hear their words. "He's not a real man…"

Oh God. They were probably calling the cops as we speak!

Felt extremely nauseous and panicked. What should I do?

Without thinking, I thrust my hand deep within my jacket pocket and whipped out the bottle of liquor.

"You wanna see a real man?" I asked, almost hysterically, as I began unscrewing the cap. "I'll show you a real man!"

"Huh?" Alfred looked confused at my outburst, then alarmed as he watched me bring the bottle to my lips. "What you doing?" he whispered, eyes huge.

Yeah. That's right, weakling.

He was obviously impressed and intimidated.

"Drinking. Like I always do," I said gruffly, bottle at my lips. Caught a whiff of something that was reminiscent of a cleaning product. For a brief moment, thought of Mrs. Hughes. Aw, bless.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you," he warned, brow furrowed.

"What? You never had a sip of nectar before?" I smirked. (Was I even using the correct terminology?)

Stella looked less impressed. "What's the fuss? Me granddad drinks that every day. Nothing wrong with puttin' a little hair on your chest," she teased, thumping me. Tried not to roll my eyes. If there's one thing I've learned in life, it's that maids are atrocious flirts.

"I have plenty hair on my chest, thank you," I said.

Alfred swallowed. "You better watch out that Mr. Carson doesn't catch you."

"And are you going to tell him?" I challenged.

Alfred fell silent, wide eyes watching my every move. "You can't handle that whole bottle," he scoffed, but his eyes remained unconvinced.

Panicked ever so slightly at the fact that he may have been correct. But did not show it.

"Oh really?"

Alfred and Stella's eyes were burning into my body.

Well. Best do this right if I'm going to do it at all.

Without another thought, I chugged the whole bottle. Was like drinking the inside of a motor car.

But aside from the intense burning in my throat, my stomach's fear that I was poisoning it, my watering eyes, and the slight gag reflex that took all my might to suppress, it wasn't so bad, really. Nothing a man can't handle.

Using every acting ability I possessed and honed, I swallowed the last drop with an impassive face. Felt my eye twitch ever so slightly, but other than that, knew that my performance was flawless.

Even if I was in danger of vomiting on Stella's shoes.

They stared at me with wide eyes.

"How did you do that?" Stella asked in wonder.

Alfred remained silent, looking quite insecure. HAH!

"Oh, you know. Real men drink all the time. It's not a bother at all," I forced out, suppressing a burp and a sob.

"Even me granddad can't drink like that," she mused, clearly impressed.

I threw my head back and laughed mightily. The motion made me feel dizzy. Stumbled just a tiny bit.

"You alright?" she asked.

"Of course." Was I?

She smiled up at me, batting her eyelashes. It was working! I was becoming a real man!

Noticing her twitchy eyes, Alfred put his arm around her. "Come on, Stella. Let's play a game."

"But—" she protested, before I cut her off with a large wave and a:

"BYE BYE!" I jumped at the volume of my voice. Which was embarrassingly loud.

She gave me one last amused look before letting herself be escorted away by Alfred.

Stomach still sour, I turned around, curious to see if Barrow was still there. Ah, yes.

And Ivy and Daisy had returned. Daisy, it appeared, was looking for me, standing on her toes and peering around the crowd. Who could blame her?

Began walking over, but stopped.

Was it just me, or was everything…brighter?

And…slower?

And…

I looked around.

Blurrier. Everything was definitely blurrier.

Shook my head—which didn't help—before walking on. My body was beginning to feel so tingly… What was happening to me?

"Hello," I said, feeling very strange and trying my best to sound normal.

Barrow's eyes instantly narrowed.

"Where'd you get off to?" Daisy asked.

"Uh. I was talking with Alfred. And Stella." Began giggling. Could not help myself. "Isn't that an ugly name?" I found myself saying, laughter coating each word.

Ivy furrowed her brow. "I think it's lovely." Said the girl who doesn't deserve an opinion.

"You would. You have the brain of a sewing needle." Oh, God. For some reason, could not seem to control my words as my body began feeling rapidly stranger.

"James," Barrow said warningly. He was eyeing me very closely, and I could feel his suspicion.

Too bad I was busy ignoring him! "Let's play a game. Daisy, would you like me to win you a prize?" I asked happily, smiling at her.

She eyed me, beginning to look concerned. "You don't have to."

"I want to! Let us go. This will be fun." I began enunciating my words, reasoning that if I spoke calmly and clearly, they would never suspect something was afoot.

"Good idea," Barrow suddenly said. "Ladies, if you'd like to go ahead and pick which game to play, James and I will join you shortly." He smiled, and they nodded and walked off.

Oh great. I was going to get a talking-to.

Decided to beat him at his own game, and cleverly stated:

"I haven't been drinking."

His jaw clenched. "Now what gave you the impression I was going to ask you that particular question?"

Stared at him and his very pale skin. It almost glowed in the sunset. "I'm beating you at your own game," I stated wisely.

"You are such a fool," he said, shaking his head. He broke eye contact and looked away, seeming to search for a solution to a non-existent problem. Silly man.

"Come on. Enough chatting. Let's go play a game, Mr. Barrow. We're good at those," I heard myself say. The non-poisoned part of me berated the poisoned part. Shut. Up. Self.

His eyes slid over to me, then back again. "You could get in so much trouble for this. What if Mr. Carson sees you?"

"Mr. Carson? I don't see Mr. Carson anywhere. I don't even know what you're talking about! But even if I did, I'd say that it will all be just fine. Because it always is!" My whole body felt warm, and everything felt heavier and lighter at the same time. Smiled, feeling a happy hum through my bloodstream.

"No. It's not." He stared at me, a trace of pity in his features. "Come on," he finally said, grabbing me by the arm. "We can't keep them waiting."

"I agree," I nodded seriously.

He sighed as we began to walk, his fingers pressing almost painfully into the flesh of my bicep. "How much did you drink?"

"This." I brandished the empty bottle.

He immediately stopped. "The whole thing?"

"Yes, sir."

"Have you ever drank before?"

"No, sir."

He stared at me, horrified. Was funny.

"Oh God. You're going to be sick."

"You don't know that!" I teased.

"I'm serious."

"Well…" I looked up at him. "Good thing I don't have the ability to vomit!" I laughed in Barrow's face, stumbling over a very large rock. Or…perhaps it was a leaf.

In any case, things went fuzzy after that.

The next thing I remember is retching in the bushes in the back of Downton, Barrow's hands holding me up for support.

Stood up shakily after I'd [finally] finished, a cold sweat engulfing my body. "I didn't know I had that much in me," I mused, blearily staring down upon my pile of sick. "Look, Mr. Barrow, look at all that!" I tugged on his arm, pointing enthusiastically into the bushes.

"I'm fine, thank you." His face was averted upward, irritated. Hm. You'd think after being a medic, he'd be used to things like that.

"Well, you're missing out," I said, as he began walking me in the direction of the servants' quarters.

With some difficulty, he managed to coax me indoors.

"Wait. Where are Daisy and Ivy?" I asked as he was shutting the door, only just realizing their absence.

"They came back hours ago. I told them you weren't feeling very fit." He shot me a look.

"Hours ago?!" I exclaimed, earning me a "Shhhh!"

"Hours ago?" I repeated in a whisper.

He nodded.

"Where've we been?"

"I've been walking you around the village, waiting for you to straighten out." He did not seem amused.

We made our way through the hallway and the darkness only made me feel more nauseous. And tired. So very, very tired.

I paused as his words finally sunk in. Felt my intoxicated and sickly heart beat a pinch faster.

"You did that for me?" I asked, touched.

"Only because I bloody had to, now get on." No love lost, there.

A little put out by his coldness, I fell silent and began my climb up the stairs.

Never has a task seemed more impossible.

With the help of Barrow—whose hand never left the crook of my elbow—we eventually made it to the top and, finally, my room.

"Alright. Here you are," he said, helping me into bed.

Sleep began to tug at my every limb. Was so, so tired…

"Thank you," I mumbled, fighting to keep my eyes open. Could hear him fumbling to leave, so managed to utter out, "M'clothes. Need m'clothes." Dragged my eyes open.

He was looking at me, confused. "Do you mean your nightclothes?"

Nodded.

Without another word he rummaged around my dresser before procuring a clean set.

"Am so thirsty," I moaned, putting a hand over my eyes.

"I expect you are. Here, put these on. I'll be right back."

"Promise?" I removed my hand from my eyes and looked up at him, feeling a deep sadness at his departure. Did not want to be alone.

He paused, his eyes boring into mine. "Promise." And the door snapped quietly shut.

With extreme difficulty I managed to put on my pajamas. Did not know how my sober self made this look so easy.

Feeling somewhatly accomplished, I lied back down on my bed, wrapping myself in the warm blankets, and awaited Barrow's return.

At long last, I heard the door open. In his hands were a tall glass of water and a piece of bread.

"Where'd you get these?" I croaked.

"Never you mind. Now drink up. And have a bit of bread." Despite my stomach's horror at the thought, I listened to his instructions.

"There. Now get to sleep."

"Feel so sick," I whispered, closing my eyes.

Suddenly felt his hand upon my forehead. Leaned into it ever so slightly. Felt nice. And comforting.

"You're fine. Just a bit knackered." In an instant he removed his hand, leaving a cold loneliness in place of it. Heard his footsteps as they made to leave.

"Thomas," I called.

He immediately stopped. I'd hoped it was because I'd said his name. "'M sorry about yesterday. I didn't mean to get you in trouble. I panicked when Mr. Carson called me into his office. Didn't want you to get in trouble, though. Felt sorry about it all last night. 'N today. Feel ever so sorry. 'S why I was trying to be nice at the fair. I wasn't trying to be mean. I just….I don't know," I bumbled, my mouth thick and sticky. My eyes felt heavier and heavier.

There was silence, and then, "Apology accepted."

"Thank you, Thomas," I sighed, before feeling exhaustion engulf me.

The next thing I knew, it was morning. And I felt like I was dying.

Is so strange, Diary. Can barely remember the events of last night. Only the bits and pieces. Can mostly remember the feeling of Barrow's hands. Helping me walk, pouring me into bed, patting my back, and so on. Can still feel them when I close my eyes.

Is a strange thing to remember.

Still do not feel very well. Very much want to die—emotionally and physically. Wish for nothing more than to be in bed all day.

But must go down to serve dinner now.

Hate November.

11:49 pm

I don't think my life could get any worse at this point.

Almost lost my job at dinner. Again. Do not know what takes over me, Diary.

Had almost served everybody at the table, and was coming upon Mr. Branson, when I felt a fresh wave of nausea, the evening's fish entrée overcoming my senses and making my stomach churn. Tried my hardest not to shake the tray, but perhaps failed in my attempts, for suddenly Mr. Branson looked up at me, slightly startled.

"You alright, there? You look a bit ill."

Was so embarrassed at what he said—he basically called me ugly in front of everybody—that, without thinking, blurted out an enraged, "I do NOT."

Part of me died instantly as all Hell broke loose.

Heard Carson gasp my name as His Lordship stood up, throwing his napkin on the table. "Well, I must say!"

"YOU WILL APOLOGIZE THIS INSTANT!" Carson bellowed, thundering towards me. "I'm so sorry, your Lordship!"

"Not at all, Carson, it's not your fault. But an apology is in order," His Lordship said, eyes hard on me as I panicked and cried internally.

"I apologize, Mr. Branson," I spluttered, face red and eyes tearing. Was so humiliated. "I don't know why I said that, truly, I'm so sorry, I—"

"There's no need to apologize. Really," he emphasized, giving a look to His Lordship. "Please, let there be no fuss. It's quite alright." To be quite honest, the poor guy looked terrified at the sudden ruckus. Sometimes forget that Mr. Branson once worked here. Is such a strange situation.

Still, felt absolutely horrible as I stood before him helplessly.

He looked up at me, eyes kind. "There's no need to worry. It's just dinner." He smiled and I nodded, but felt just as miserable.

Naturally, Carson banished me to downstairs. As I was leaving, I heard Mr. Branson continuing to stick up for me. Would have been touched if I was not so numb.

With heavy heart, and light tears, I waited downstairs in Carson's office, fully expecting to be dismissed once and for all.

At one point Anna came in asking if I was alright.

"Quite alright, thank you," I whispered, unable to look up.

Felt her hand on my shoulder as she said, "You know, there's no shame in admitting that you're not."

Could not respond.

"Well. Whatever it is, I wish you good luck."

Was very kind of her, and felt a drop of warmth in the icy depths of my soul.

After what felt like hours, Carson finally appeared. His face was very cold, making me feel small inside.

"James. What you did tonight was unforgivable."

I swallowed. I couldn't look up. I just couldn't.

"You are lucky Mr. Branson does not feel the same. He has asked me to press the situation no further." A pause. A flicker of hope. "Of course, such things are not up to Mr. Branson." Hope gone. "Still… Seeing as how His Lordship appointed you this position, I am willing to give him the benefit of the doubt that your abilities are truly worth your stature. But if you so much as say one more word out of order, I promise you, you will not only be dismissed from your position as first footman, but dismissed from Downton itself. Do I make myself clear?"

Um, no.

Did he just say I was _keeping my job?_ Surely this was a cruel joke. Surely.

"Mr. Carson?" I questioned, finally lifting my head.

He eyed me. "Consider yourself lucky, James. My generosity has been stretched very far these past couple of months. Especially in regards to you."

I nodded, absolutely speechless.

Had I been killed? Was this Heaven?

"You may go," he concluded.

Feeling utterly bewildered, I left the room as quickly as I could, fearing he would change his mind. My head spun. Why did he let me stay? Because of what Mr. Branson said? What could he have said? And why would he be so adamant to keep me on?

I climbed the stairs to the attic, thoughts whirring within me. Felt so tense and discombobulated. Wished that I had somebody to talk to. But who?

Mr. Barrow.

No.

It was sleep I needed, not a discussion.

Had just made it to my room, hand poised above the doorknob. Felt even more sick after climbing the endless flights of stairs. Just go to bed, Jimmy. Just go to bed.

But hang on…

My mind fluttered down to the nausea that was fast encompassing my innards once more.

Perhaps if I step out for some air I'll feel better. And I won't speak one word to Mr. Barrow—not one word. I will just go outside, breathe the crisp night air, feel better, and return to my room. Nothing spoken, no harm done. Because really, Diary, I need to take care of myself. And I cannot let something as insignificant as Mr. Barrow stand in the way of that.

Upon reaching the door to the outside, felt sparks of unease within me. Just don't talk to him, Jimmy. Yes. It will be much easier that way.

Nodding to myself in reassurance, I opened the door and stepped out.

Before I could barely close the door, I heard an unsurprised, "James," from a shadowed face that refused to look my way.

Will not say one word, will not say one word.

"Mr. Barrow," I automatically responded. Dammit. Okay, well I suppose I could speak if spoken to. However, making any unnecessary comments and/or initializing conversation was strictly prohibited.

I stuffed my hands in my pockets and stared up at the stars. Looked more like eyes, really. Tiny little shimmering eyes, judging me. I glared up at them.

And waited to be spoken to.

…

No such luck.

We stood there in a suffocating silence that made small incisions in my heart. Could hear it thump ever so quietly if I really concentrated and I wondered, briefly, if it beated in time with Mr. Barrow's.

I hope it doesn't. His heart is corrupt and mine is pure, and they have nothing do with each other.

As the silence pressed on, began to feel more and more uncomfortable. God, this was awkward.

"So…how's the cigarette?" I suddenly heard myself ask. Initiating conversation. Dammit. At this point, I need to just throw all rules out the window. After the rough day I had, the last thing in the world I need is rules. I can do as I please. Am already disappointing everybody else, why should I have to disappoint myself.

His face perfectly reflected the awkwardness of the situation. "Fine, thanks." He took another drag, his face forward and away from me.

"So you….like smoking?" Oh please, Jimmy. Just stop.

His look was persecuting me. "Yes." He sounded very final.

Shamed at my appalling conversation skills, I searched the cosmos for a sentence that wasn't wholly ridiculous and dim-witted. Cannot have him thinking I am thick when, in actuality, am brilliant.

"I had a bit of a time of it today." There. That's better.

"So I've heard." Puff, puff.

"I'm surprised I haven't gotten dismissed," I pressed, swiftly getting the feeling that this was all going to be a one way conversation.

At this, he remained silent.

Well. I see someone isn't very chatty. Well he doesn't want to speak to me? I'll MAKE him speak to me.

"I don't know what's wrong with me," I then said, and slumped against the wall. Was not the boldest statement, but it felt honest. And refreshing. Without thinking, I blabbered on. "Every day I manage to do something more terrible. I've been given the honor of being first footman—the only thing I've ever wanted since I came to this bloody place—and I'm throwing it away every opportunity I get. It's only a matter of time before Alfred is going to win. Because he is. I know it. And I'm just gonna be the lowly second footman. With no future, no friends…no life." Was surprised at myself. Was not used to speaking so freely with strangers. Was surprised and embarrassed. I shifted uncomfortably.

A small part of me, buried far enough where I could pretend not to feel it, hoped he would respond. Only to reassure me that I didn't just spill all my personal business upon deaf ears.

"Well, the solution is simple." I perked at his voice. "Stop being such a git all the time."

Oh.

Saddened, more than I ought to be, I remained silent. Was not in the mood to argue. Or even stand up for myself. Was just so tired. And I suppose he was right.

I bowed my head, shutting my eyes firmly against the darkness surrounding me. Did not need the world to shove night upon me when I could create my own.

Was just debating on going back inside when I suddenly heard:

"Start trying harder, Jimmy. Please."

My heart stopped.

"Stop acting a fool and just do your job. You're good at it, I know you are. Better than that fop, Alfred, anyway. You deserve it, not him. So just try harder."

Was afraid to move, in fear that I would knock over the fragile makings of this seemingly dream-like and highly unbelievable moment. Had Barrow just complimented me? Kindly? Had he just said please? Had he just had actual emotion in his voice? Had he just called me Jimmy?

However, it soon became clear his little speech was over and so, in fear that he may misjudge my silence, uttered a "Th-thank you." No, my voice did not crack. And no, I was not getting emotional.

Refused to open my eyes or lift my head all the same.

The silence once again settled between us, but rather than it being an impending doom, it fit nicely around us, cushioning my limbs and settling upon my chest. It gave me room to breathe.

Knew that he was back to being stony. Could just hear it as he lit another cigarette. Only wished that I could have seen his face as he'd been speaking. Just to see his eyes while his mask had been off, just to see how they betrayed him.

Oh well. Would probably have frightened me, anyway.

"My job…" I said suddenly, head still bent. "…it _is_ important to me. It is. I'll try harder, because I have to. It's all I've got."

"I know." His tone was sincere.

Felt a pang of indescribable emotion at that.

It was then that it occurred to me. I snapped my eyes open and turned to him. "You had something to do with it, didn't you?" I stared at him, hard. "Carson was going to take away my position, wasn't he? You talked him out of it. You did something. Didn't you?"

Of course! How could I have missed something so obvious?

His hand shook ever so slightly as he brought his cigarette up to his lips. I'd struck a nerve.

Still, he wasn't going to give in. "You should get to bed. It's late."

"I'll take that as a yes," I said smugly.

He shot me a look. "Goodnight, James." To my annoyance, he stubbed out his cigarette and made to leave without another word. This man is absolutely insufferable.

As his body passed mine, felt a fracture of hesitation within him.

He stopped.

"Please try harder," he said once more, voice low. My heart thumped. "If only so I know I'm not wasting my bleeding time by _always_ sticking up for you. You need to start pulling your weight."

I chanced a glance upward and saw he was smirking again, a playful edge within his eyes and words.

Bit back a smile and shook my head as he went inside. He's really something else.

Oh, Mr. Barrow. Hate him very much. Find him unwholesome.

But I suppose he could be worse. (only barely)

Cannot believe so much has happened already though, Diary. Is only the 2nd of November!

If I'm not careful, I'm going to get wrinkles from the stress of this job.

Nov 3

8:13 am

Have taken Barrow's advice about trying harder (only out of pity because he has no friends) and decided to wake up extra early this morning to prep the upstairs dining area AND help Daisy and Ivy lay out breakfast downstairs.

Mr. Carson looked slightly alarmed, especially when I poured his tea for him, but know that I am doing the right thing. Even if Barrow looked as if he were about to burst into laughter the whole time. (Do not understand. Was his idea in the first place.)

Promotion, here I come!

1:09 pm

Daisy is a strange gal. Was just chatting with her in the kitchen and she made absolutely no sense.

"You look a sight better than yesterday," she said, glancing up at me from the dough she was rolling out.

Did not know what she was talking about. Did not look any different, unless she was talking about my smooth complexion (got a new facial scrub from the village).

"Don't know what you mean."

"You're not crying anymore!"

"I do not cry," I said hotly. Must not take what Daisy says seriously. She knows not was she says because she is poor. The other day she said that she thought farm life was exciting.

"I wasn't trying to be nasty," she explained, taking in my irritation.

Oh. "No, of course not," I smiled. "But I don't," I added, just to be sure.

She nodded. "Well, what's cheered you up?"

"Cheered me up?"

"You're all smiles today, not…um…" Could hear the wheels turning as she searched for a word that didn't look or sound like 'crying.' "…sad…like yesterday. Did something happen?"

Immediately I thought of Mr. Barrow and our little talk the previous night. Which was odd. The last thing I could prevail on that man to do was cheer me up or raise my spirits in any way. The only thing he raised was my blood pressure.

"Of course not. Today's just a new and beautiful day, Daisy. A fresh start, a chance to make everything better."

She paused her actions, staring at me.

"Are you quite finished here?" Mrs. Patmore suddenly interjected irritably.

We nodded in unison.

"Good. Now out you go."

Did as I was told, but couldn't help but wonder what Daisy meant. Had I been smiling a lot?

Is strange, Diary.

Nov 5

6:20 am

Have been thinking of more clever ways to cozy up to try harder, as per Barrow's instructions. Getting up early is too taxing on my body, and I got yelled at by Daisy for being in the way when I was trying to help her today.

So have come up with a brilliant idea.

Now, all I need to do is somehow obtain a photo of Mr. Carson…

9:14 am

Ah hah! Mrs. Hughes had one!

Had just been telling her how wonderful she is at her job, when decided to expertly enquire about the subject.

"A picture of Mr. Carson? Oh, yes, I'm sure I have a spare one about." (How many did she have? And why?) "Why do you ask?" She looked genuinely puzzled.

"I wish to carry it around with me."

She blinked her surprise, eyebrows shooting up.

"You see, I wish so much to be like him," I hurried on. "He is my mentor. And I feel that if he is always with me, I will always do the right thing," I finished solemnly. It was ingenious, really. Why wouldn't I carry around Carson's photograph?

"I see," she said, looking less impressed than I suspected and more…uncomfortable? Suspicious? "Well, I'll see what I can do." She shot me one last look before walking away.

Was this not a good idea?

12:00 pm

Mrs. Hughes found one! Can always rely upon her! Am now carrying it in my pocket.

1: 05 pm

Hate Alfred.

Him and the hallboys teased me because of the photo.

Told them, "Say what you will, children. But I am first footman. And I can do as I please." Stuck my chin out boldly.

And so they heckled me. And, of course, it was at that moment that Mr. Carson himself found his way into the kitchen.

My blood froze. You see, Diary, though my actions were brilliant, the only real flaw in the plan was that I'd never actually told Mr. Carson that I'd been carrying his photo around with me. And, if I'm being honest, I never planned to.

Until now.

"What's all this about?" he demanded, peering at us all suspiciously.

"Ask James, Mr. Carson. He's the one who's got you…close to his heart," Alfred smirked.

They all stifled laughter.

Carson looked appalled. "What?!" He turned to me. "What are they on about?" he demanded.

I turned crimson. "Er—well, you see, Mr. Carson…I…." Oh God. How was I going to tell him?

"Show him, Jimmy," Alfred challenged. My mind immediately processed the amount of weapons within a kitchen—hello, cleaver—and briefly wondered if I were within reach of any, before Mr. Carson interrupted my thoughts.

"Show me what, exactly?" He already looked enraged.

No. This could not be. It was my first day of being good! How could I have ruined everything already?

Completely humiliated, I slowly removed the picture from my pocket.

All anger displayed on Carson's face was replaced with complete shock. "Where did you get that?"

"Mrs. Hughes," I said lamely.

A tinge of pink painted his cheeks. I stared. Was Mr. Carson… _blushing?_ "I see. And—and why do you have it, again?" He looked completely flustered.

"I just wanted to carry it about as a reminder to always do me best, sir. Seeing as that you're my mentor."

"Your mentor?" His voice lilted up an octave as he inspected me with wide eyes.

"Yes. I were only doing it to show an example of honor. Not anything disrespectful," I promised. He took the picture from me, eyeing it with a sense of—what appeared to be—fondness. Was completely taken aback.

Could Carson feel?

After a few moments of silence, he cleared his throat. "Well. Here you are, James. I see no harm in the action. And you, boys," he said, handing me back the photo and turning toward Alfred and the hallboys, "I expect you take a leaf out of James' book. Such action shows a strength of character. Something any one of you could use." And he marched off.

Could not help but give Alfred a smug look as I puffed my chest.

Still cannot believe that I wasn't yelled at. Have no idea what happened. Or why. But the point is, I wasn't yelled at.

From now on am never, ever going anywhere without Mr. Carson's picture.

2:25 pm

Barrow took Carson's picture from me.

Saw it as he was passing me on his way upstairs, and snatched it before I could protest.

"There are better ways to impress Mr. Carson without needing to tote his face around with you wherever you go," he said.

Probably only took it because he's going to steal my idea.

Hate him.

Nov. 8

10:31 pm

Have been doing very well as of late, Diary. Made a formal apology to Mr. Carson about all the mistakes I've made recently. His eyebrows almost disappeared into his hairline, but he seemed rather pleased at the gesture. Went on to tell him that I was happy to do any and all extra work as punishment for my bad attitude as of late. Then I really thought he was going to pass out.

With a shocked but indisputably pleased manner, he said, "Of course, James. I can't deny that I am quite pleased to hear such things…coming from you." He eyed me. You'd think he'd have been talking to an insect.

Nevertheless, he took me up on my offer almost immediately, so have been very busy the past couple of days. Has been worth it, though. Have been treated much nicer by everybody. Mrs. Patmore hasn't yelled at me once, Alfred hasn't called me a girl, Daisy and Ivy are talking to me regularly, and even O'Brien stepped out of the way so I could pass her on my way to luncheon this afternoon. (She usually doesn't budge a wink, and one time I even dropped my tray because of it. Think she may have knocked into me that time, though. Cannot think of any other way I would have been flattened against the wall.)

All in all, Barrow's advice seems to be benefitting me. Part of me feels that it is my duty to thank him (the part that always seems to find itself stumbling upon the window that displays a perfect and discreet view of him smoking outside every night) but the other part of me feels that any and all verbal communication between us is best left unmade.

Still, cannot deny that his advice has helped considerably. Perhaps his existence is worthwhile, after all.

Nov 9

6:02 am

My birthday is in twenty-one days, Diary! I completely forgot! How exciting!

I'm sure downstairs is going to throw a surprise party for me. Why wouldn't they?

8:23 pm

Made sure to tell everybody about my birthday at dinner tonight. Was very sly about it. May even start calling myself 'The Fox' from now.

Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes were discussing the upcoming plans for the holidays and how the house was going to need to lie low since Lady Mary is with child.

"We must make this a Christmas with no fuss. Normally we are to take the day off, at His Lordship's generous request. However, with Lady Mary's condition, I feel it would be best to take up as we normally would, and serve throughout the day. The less strain on her, the better."

"Really, Mr. Carson," Mrs. Hughes judged, giving him a look. "She won't break her back from picking up a serving spoon on her own." I quite agreed, but would never admit it.

Carson's jaw dropped. "Well we'll never know, will we, because we aren't going to risk it."

Mrs. Hughes sighed, rolling her eyes.

Took the momentary lull in the conversation as my opportunity.

"I'm jolly excited about Lady Mary's child. Being born is great! Oh, speaking of, my birthday's in twenty-one days." I smiled, pleased at my clever performance.

Everybody stared at me.

"Is it now?" Mrs. Hughes asked, though I suspect she was feigning interest. Which is just odd, really.

I nodded, and another silence fell. They were probably all thinking of what to get me.

"Well," Barrow suddenly said politely. "We'll cross that bridge when we get to it." Was that sarcasm? Was he being rude?

Shot him a look and finished my meal.

Do not care if he is a sourpuss. We'll see who's laughing when I'm buried in presents and cards and well-wishes!

Nov 11

10:11 am

Perhaps Mr. Barrow is not so bad after all, Diary.

Had just returned from serving breakfast when he motioned me into the servants' hall. Looked around to make sure nobody was around (do not need more rumors spread) before entering.

Kept a calm demeanor as I greeted him pleasantly. "Greetings, Mr. Barrow."

His lips twitched as he replied with a subtly mocking, " _Greetings_ , James." Is very infuriating. He has this insufferable way of laughing at people without blatantly laughing at them, which makes it quite difficult to attack him and/or defend oneself.

Still, being on my best, I merely smiled in response.

"Well, to the point," he continued all business-like, arms at his sides. "I've been meaning to say, you've been doing well these past few days. Mrs. Hughes is quite pleased, and I dare say Mr. Carson is as well, even if he doesn't always show it. You've…done well, James. Good job."

Can tell that Barrow is not used to giving many compliments. He looked quite uncomfortable through the whole thing, his face tightening and his mouth twisting into something akin to disgust. It was as if he were forcibly ingesting poison. Perhaps kindness is his poison.

Wouldn't surprise me.

Still, felt quite pleased at having the grump's approval. "Thank you, Mr. Barrow," I nodded, bowing slightly.

"Not at all, James."

There was a pause as we looked at each other. His face had relaxed into place again, and he regarded me with an unflinching stare. I attempted to do the same, but felt a discomfort at the crisp, clearness of his eyes. They were sharp, enough to slice my fingers if I reached out. Yet could not look away because I needed to display my strength.

"Well," he finally spoke, and I swallowed, breaking away my gaze. "Good day, James."

I nodded and left.

Was obviously a victory for me. Feel rather chuffed about it.

Is funny though. Had he said the same thing only three months ago, would have been horrified and uncomfortable. Back when every day I was barraged with affections and accolades by him (yes, Diary, he was a completely different person) it would have meant nothing to hear such things pouring from his lips. Of course, he was much more obsessed with me then. Which was just disgusting. He was absolutely in love with me.

Wait.

So does this mean he doesn't love me anymore?

It must.

Oh.

Well. Good. Great. Swell. Marvelous. This is exactly what I wanted. My wish came true. Yes. Jolly good. I have been ridden of my stalker, and now I no longer need to hate him. Or befriend him. We can continue on our paths like two space rocks, hurtling in our own orbits. Never coming into contact, only passing. May see each other flicker in the distance, may watch as the other ambles on, but will never, ever have dealings with each other.

Lovely, sounds lovely.

So. I suppose I no longer hate Mr. Barrow.

I no longer have to.

Nov 13

5:01 pm

I hate Mr. Barrow.

Is a sneak and has ulterior motives.

Apparently, he still talks to Ivy. In other words, he's leading the poor girl on! How absolutely indecent of him! To knowingly break a young bird's heart! It is appalling and unacceptable and shows that he is not pure of heart. Could not believe it when she told me today.

It all started when I was looking for Alfred. I walked in on him and the girl-with-the-ugly name flirting in the servants' hall. (It appears they're a bit of an item. Thank heavens. Find that she is shady and he annoying, and now they can be shady and annoying in their own little world.)

"Alfred," I greeted with a smirk, then glanced to her. "Hello, Umbrella," I nodded in acknowledgment.

"It's _Stella_." She did not appear pleased.

Okay. "Anyway. Alfred, come on. The Dowager's just arrived."

He nodded. "On me way," he bumbled before winking at Girl. (I think that's what I'll name her. Girl.)

"She's something, isn't she?" he boasted as soon as we were out of earshot.

I chose not to mention that I could easily have the thing if I wanted it, and instead politely said, "Sure." Barrow would've been proud of my kindness.

"She seems very nice," Ivy smiled kindly as we reached the kitchen to get the trays.

"She is," Alfred said, staring at her a little dazedly. Obviously still carries a torch for her. Is very pathetic, as the rest of us can all see that it will never happen. "And how's Mr. Barrow?" There was a slight edge to his voice.

I tensed ever so slightly at the question. Mr. Barrow? Surely he wasn't still going on with that, was he? Acting as though he gave a hoot about Ivy? I hadn't seen them talk since the fair, and she hadn't been following him around like a sick puppy as of late.

"He's just lovely," she blushed, her smile wide.

_What?_

My eyes snapped over to her. "Why do you say that?" I asked in an even tone.

"Because he is. He tells me." She gave me a slightly quizzical look.

For a brief second I was convinced I could breathe fire. "Do you mean to say that you still speak with him?"

"Of course. Why wouldn't I?" she said, taken slightly aback as she handed me the tea tray.

I snatched it from her unattractively promiscuous hands and very briefly considered throwing it at her. "Never mind. I've got work to do," I snapped, and stormed off, leaving Alfred to catch up with me.

Cannot believe Mr. Barrow is putting up such a farce. Is obviously untrustworthy.

Am just horrified about the whole thing.

So.

Might have pelted a sugar cube at Ivy's head after we returned from tea.

Nov 16

10:14 am

Have been very cold to Barrow ever since I discovered that he's been cavorting with that hussy still. Has been hard to show him the cold shoulder though, Diary, because have just been so busy trying to help Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes and the other staff members that deserve my services. (not Ivy, Alfred, Mr. Bates, or O'Brien)

Think that Barrow has gotten the message though. Because he absolutely humiliated me this morning. And I know it was on purpose.

It was right before breakfast, and everybody was slowly filtering into the servants' hall. Was trying to get Mr. Carson's attention because I was polishing his nametag on his door (I'd purchased it in Ripon the previous day and had Molesley install it—he's quite the handyman, who knew?) when Barrow suddenly said, quite loudly:

"James. Stop ogling Mr. Carson and bring up the tea." Fought the urge to throw the rag at his head, and instead smiled and did as I was told.

Must exact revenge.

11:03 pm

May have just cornered Barrow in his smoking spot outside. Confronted him about Ivy and everything.

"I thought we already covered this." He was obviously annoyed.

"Well, I didn't know it was going to last this long. You said you were going to stop. Now you just look like a big, fat liar." Sniffed and looked away. I don't care if that sounded immature. I meant it.

He did not appear amused. "I can handle my own affairs, thank you. It's no concern of yours."

I hate when he has a point.

"Fine. Well. I'm also mad about your little comment this morning."

At this, the corners of his mouth quirked. "Oh you liked that, did you?" Smug. Bastard.

"You need to start respecting me. I'm first footman!" I huffed, resisting the urge to stomp my foot. Even if it was for emphasis.

"Thanks to me," he reminded, undertones of danger present within his tone.

Well, shit.

I sighed, defeated. I tried to think of something to say that would put the situation in my favor.

"Fine." (Well. It could have been worse.) "I'll just bid you goodnight, then," I finished lamely, shooting him a glare.

Heard a sigh as I headed toward the door. "I'll stop picking on you so much in front of everybody. From now on, I'll treat you just like everybody else."

Had mixed feelings at this. "But not like Alfred."

A smile. "No. Not like Alfred," he assured me.

Returned the smile—just for a millisecond—before leaving.

Nov 19

4:19 pm

Love Mrs. Hughes.

Had pulled out her chair for her to sit in this morning for breakfast, and she smiled at me.

"Thank you, James. You've been very kind these past weeks. It has not gone unnoticed."

Wanted to strut around like a peacock and sing at this, but instead suppressed my immense joy and humbly stated, "Oh, it's the least I can do, Mrs. Hughes. But thank you." Gave her my sweetest smile, which she returned.

"Well, I'm happy to hear it. You've become quite a fixture here at Dowtnon."

Am so happy, Diary. It looks as though I may be keeping my job after all!

Nov 20

9:52 am

Am very insulted.

Barrow said the most horrible thing today.

Had woken up late—first time ever—because had been helping Carson deep-polish the sliver last night, and had absolutely no time to fix myself up as I normally do each morning. Ran downstairs in my livery, barely making it to serve His Lordship's breakfast.

Felt very triumphant afterwards, and was clearing the table with the maids and Alfred, when Barrow came up to me.

"You were late this morning," he said unforgivably, giving me a hard eye. "I expect it will never happen again, James."

I nodded, and he made to leave, but paused at the door. "And for God's sake, do something with your hair, will you."

Wanted to chuck a spoon at him.

As if he can talk! His head looks like it's been dipped in a pan of oil. He's no great hair stylist. Hmph.

Is such an indecent man.

Nov 22

9:30 pm

Have decided that I hate kissing up to Carson. Is a lot of work. Barely have any time to myself. And am tired all the time.

Think that perhaps Barrow only suggested it so he could watch me scuttle around like a headless chicken. He's vindictive like that, I wouldn't be surprised.

Oh, when will it end?

Nov 24

10:22 am

Alfred says that because he's taller, he's going to live longer. Mr. Bates said that was a load of nonsense, and I quite agree with him.

But am worried. What if Alfred does live forever? Do not wish this upon the world.

10:24 am

Wait. Does this mean I'm going to die young because I'm short?

10:25 am

Not short. Petite.

Or is that worse?

Nov 27

3:31 pm

Have been cleaning Carson's office every day. Is absolutely spotless, very organized, and smells lovely because I keep leaving fresh flowers in there, from the hot house.

Alfred is obviously jealous of my work ethic.

"You're just making work for yourself. Me auntie said that he doesn't even notice you're doing anything. There's no point to it."

"Well," I said simply, "Your auntie is a hag." And marched off.

Nov 29

10:01 am

Carson has poor taste.

He, with Barrow at his side, found me today while I was chatting with Daisy in the kitchen (and ignoring Alfred who only ever talks about Girl anymore. Boring. I'll let Ivy handle all that.)

"James," he began, and I immediately noted the expression plastered to his face which screamed of 'unimpressed,' and 'annoyed.' That's never a good sign.

Straightened up immediately, feeling weary. "Yes, Mr. Carson?"

"While I appreciate the sentiment, I must insist that you stop leaving flowers in my office every day."

Heard Ivy and Daisy giggling. Oh God.

But even more infuriating was Barrow, who, just shy of Carson's peripherals, had the largest smirk I'd ever seen filling his smug little bitch face. I thought the damn thing was going to tip him over.

Took all my concentration to ignore him, keeping my eyes unblinkingly fixed on Carson.

"I apologize, Mr. Carson," I said, jaw clenching as the bastard's smirk somehow grew even larger. "I merely thought they would spruce the place up a bit. Was just trying to exhibit an act of kindness."

"Indeed. However, they are piling up, dying everywhere, and making an absolute mess. And since you've taken it upon yourself to clean everything _except_ them, I must ask you to withhold your kindness." Barrow began slowly shaking his head in disapproval while Carson looked down at me, completely unaware of his unprofessional and shit-eating companion's antics.

"Of course, Mr. Carson. It won't happen again." I attempted a smile large enough to distract from the vein that was currently throbbing in my forehead.

He pursed his lips and left. Barrow, smirk still present, made to leave as well.

Leaving the giggling kitchen maids behind, I followed, then grabbed his arm when we were a safe distance away. I waited until Carson was out of sight before I rounded on him.

"Must you always look so superior?" I huffed, narrowing my eyes at him.

"I don't know what you mean." Smirk.

"Oh, please."

"Fine. Then the answer is: yes." Bigger smirk. I need to get him a bag to put over his head.

I glared in response and a small chuckle escaped him. "Look. I know I told you to try harder. And, as I said previously, I really am glad you listened to me." He paused, placing emphasis on the words. The smirk was dwindling away into something more real, and his eyes were light. A nice change. "But you must tone it down. Buying him a nametag for his door? Carrying his picture around? Cleaning after him? Leaving _flowers_ in his office?"

Flushed slightly. Well, when he said it like that…

"Try to ease up, James."

I pondered his words. I suppose if he's given me good advice before… Perhaps he could be giving it again. "Fine. But what should I do now?"

The smirk returned. "You really are helpless." _Pardon?_ "Just be yourself. Or rather, the part that isn't intolerable." Oh, he's just so funny. "Now, get. Those flowers aren't going to clean themselves up." He gave me one last smile—though I couldn't tell if it was genuine or devious—before walking on.

Absolutely insufferable, that man.

He's not going to get away with such cheek.

4:31 pm

Have dumped all the flowers in Barrow' room.

Feel very sly. The Fox is back.

7:22 pm

If Barrow has found the mess of half-dead flowers littered around his room, he hasn't lead on to it.

Is very unsatisfying, Diary. Would it be so hard if he just frowned? Just a tiny bit?

10:59 pm

Could not help it. Instead of spying on Barrow before bed as per usual (perhaps 'spying' isn't the right word) ended up actually going outside. Again.

I think he was expecting me.

"James."

"Barrow. Did you see the present I left you?" I asked, sounding horrifyingly flirtatious. Cleared my throat. There must have been something lodged in there.

"I did. They're lovely. Thank you." His narrowed eyes inspected with me amusement amidst the swirls of smoke.

Huh?

"They weren't meant to be lovely," I said indignantly.

"No?"

"No." Silence followed, and I reached for something to say as he stood there, ever so calm. "Tomorrow's my birthday," I blurted out. Not very Fox-like.

"So you've said." Puff. "Any special plans?"

"You tell me." I inwardly shrieked. WHY DID I SAY THAT?! "I mean. If there is…you know…anything planned… I mean. You know." Kill me now.

He looked extremely entertained by my display. "It's just another day for the rest of us." He threw down his cigarette, crunching it under his boot. He glanced up at me as he exhaled. "But I'll see what I can do. Perhaps Carson will let you have some time off." And, as is his custom, he made to leave.

Before he could open the door, I turned my head in his direction. "You going to get me a present, then?" Oh come on, Jimmy, SHUT UP.

Still, waited patiently for his reply.

"I should think the last thing you would want is a present from me."

"Well. You were never very bright." Was suddenly overcome with awkwardness, so quickly added, "But you're quite right."

I heard the door open. "Goodnight, James."

Uttered a quiet, "Goodnight, Mr. Barrow," but the door had already shut.

Please let this be a good birthday.

Nov 30

12:00 am

IT'S MY BIRTHDAY!

Cannot wait to see what the day has in store!

8:21 am

Birthday is an utter failure thus far. Not one person has said anything. There was no grand surprise.

Nothing.

Perhaps there's still time?

5:31 pm

Worse. Birthday. In. History.

Even worse than last year when I spent it alone, packing up the last mementoes I had of mum and dad in order to sell them because I couldn't afford food or shelter.

Well. Perhaps not worse than that.

But a close second!

Nobody has said ANYTHING. And just now, Barrow caught me in the hallway.

Had his usual stony face, but with a touch of pity mixed in this time. "It appears Mr. Carson is not going to let you have any time off."

Almost teared up. Was so looking forward to an evening stroll with my Diary! "What?! Why?"

"His Lordship is having guests for dinner tonight. Carson says we need both footmen." His tone was apologetic, but his words could have used some work. Some sympathy wouldn't kill him. I don't think.

"So. Just another day," I said in a tiny voice, averting my eyes. I will not cry, I will not cry…

"I suppose so. Oh well. I best get going." That's it?

That's all he had to say?

I looked up at him fiercely. "Excuse me? Isn't there anything you want to say to me?"

He stared, startled. "Uh—"

" _Happy birthday_ , for instance?" I suggested icily.

"Oh. Well. I—"

Normally, such awkwardness coming from smooth, ol' Mr. Barrow would have delighted me. Today, it only made me more ill.

"Forget it. I've got work to do," I snapped, and I stormed off.

Hate this job.

10:43 pm

Love this job.

Is such a wonderful form of employment. Sure, I may not have had a grand surprise party. Sure, everybody may have forgotten I had a birthday at all. But that's not what matters. What matters is that this is a truly beautiful and honorable house, and I am so proud to be part of it.

This, of course, has nothing to do with the fact that, after everybody had gone to bed, was sitting in despair at the piano when Barrow came up to me.

As soon as I saw who it was I looked back down, not in the mood. "Shouldn't you be outside, sucking on a cigarette?" My voice was sour as I slowly stroked the keys of the piano, one at a time. Pianos were nice. They never forgot my birthday.

"Ran out," he said simply, hands behind his back.

"Why didn't you buy more?" I grumbled. Did not want to speak to him, but also did not want to be alone.

"I was busy buying something else."

Curious, I looked up at him. He stared down at me with his usual impassive expression. Of course. I sighed and looked back down at the keys before me.

"I know today wasn't very ideal for you," he said, all clean words and formal tone.

I continued to stroke the keys, feeling my face harden. "Was like I wasn't even born. Not worth celebrating, I guess. Ya know… I don't think nobody would much notice if I suddenly ceased to exist." Began feeling uncommonly emotional so I snapped my eyes shut. Barrow could not see me in my time of weakness.

"I would."

Froze.

Was he mocking me?

I peered up at him suspiciously. "Come off it. You'd be the _last_ to notice," I said bitterly.

Features barely softening, he shot me a look. "Don't be daft." Before I could respond, he lifted a small package up to my face. "Happy birthday, James."

I stared, completely taken aback. He'd actually gotten me something?

Had he hit his head?

 

I took the package, awestruck. "Thank you," I said, my surprise evident.

He smirked. "I have no problem admitting that I had no bloody idea what to get you." (That came as no surprise. I am a very mysterious creature.)

Intrigued, I unwrapped the package which revealed a slim box. Was it a comb? Would be a lovely gift…

I removed the cover.

I stared, taken off guard. I looked up at him, and could feel a smile forming. Didn't try to stop it this time.

He smiled in return, but his eyes still held that confident reserve. Oh, well. I'll let it slide. "It's for your diary," he said. "Something proper to write your insults about me with."

Blushed. "I don't write insults about you," I lied, looking back down at the gorgeous pen. Was silver, and had delicate engravings covering it. Was absolutely beautiful. And would look absolutely lovely paired with my periwinkle Diary. Was also surprisingly thoughtful. Almost suspicious, really. And who knew he had good taste?

"Thank you," I said genuinely, picking it up gently and inspecting it. And then, neatly written on the cap, I saw—"Did you get my initials on here?" I asked incredulously.

He remained silent as he watched me.

But how could he have? Nowhere around here engraves anything, least of all _pens_. He must've had it ordered. But then how could he have just bought it today? Unless….

"You ordered this weeks ago, didn't you? You knew all along that my birthday was coming up, and you picked this out before I even said anything about it!"

He half smiled and shrugged, his hands in his pockets. The little sneak! The kind and lovely little sneak.

"But how did you know when my birthday was?"

"You'd told me awhile back, before. Just happened to mention it in conversation."

Was stunned. "And you remembered?"

"Obviously." But it was said with a smile.

Barrow had put the time and effort into ORDERING a present for me? The same man who insulted my hair and ignored me and avoided eye contact for weeks on end?

What is this world coming to?

A little overwhelmed, I returned my attentions back to the pen, turning it over in my hands. Felt an intense warmth spread in my chest as I contained my grin.

After a few moments, heard him shuffle. "Well, I really must get going to bed now. Goodnight, James."

I looked up as he was walking away. No! Was tempted to throw myself around his legs, was so eager to stop him from leaving. "Wait!"

He turned around but said nothing, features made of ice that almost glinted in the dim lighting.

"Thank you, again. Really. I…don't know what to say. But _thank you_ , Thomas." I looked him in the eye as I said each word, hoping to convey the warmth and appreciation I felt. Am not always very good at expressing myself, Diary. Is my only fault.

The brief moment of silence that followed was filled with his attempts to hide the blatant smile that had formed on his lips. Completely failing at his usual composure, he nodded to me, his eyes filled with a warmth that I hadn't seen in months.

And then he was gone, leaving me to stare at an empty and drab room.

Is the loveliest pen though, Diary. Have been writing with it for this whole entry, and it is perhaps the most perfect pen I have ever encountered in my entire existence. Very much love it.

And very much love it here.

And, perhaps, am very glad that Barrow stayed on all those months ago, when he almost lost his job because of me. Am very glad, indeed.

Now.

Let's see how December treats me.


	4. December

The Diary of Jimmy Kent

December

Dec 1

5:54 am

Is December 1st! The first day of the most beautiful and happy month of the year! And today is going to be just tops, I know it! How could it not be, with a good job, good health, and such jolly good people surrounding me?

Diary, it's time I start appreciating all the good in my life. After all, it is the month of Christmas—a time of love, joy, and spirit. So have decided to adopt a completely new attitude in honor of this. Will no longer be unkind to others. I am turning over a new leaf!

Have also decided to carry around my new pen with me wherever I go. Just in case. You never know when you may need to write something, and rather than using some nasty, diseased thing with stranger grease all over it, I will be able to use my own beautiful and personalized one.

Was such a lovely gift from Barrow. Perhaps he truly is a good man, after all. Something so kind could not come from a cruel man, surely? Yes, his heart may be lead astray at times, but I think that he may just be the best out of the lot that work here. After me, of course. And if we're the two best people here…then…we may as well be friends, right? Good friends. You need allies in this day and age. And it is the month of forgiveness. And it was _such_ a lovely gift…

And such a lovely gift must be carried around. At all times.

Who knows? Maybe it'll be a good luck charm.

9:45 am

Have already put my new attitude into practice, with flying colors.

Had just bounded down the stairs joyously, pen safely in pocket, when I bumped into Carson who was heading upstairs.

"Ah, James," he caught me. "Tell Stella that Lady Edith isn't feeling well and will have her breakfast in her room."

"Very good, Mr. Carson! Happy December!"I greeted joyously.

I received a blank stare. "Are you quite alright?"

"Oh, quite!" I assured him, before nodding my respect and continuing along my path, leaving his bewildered eyebrows in my wake.

"Good morning!" I greeted to everybody as I happened into the servants' hall. Immediately, I spotted Barrow's chair. Empty. Was momentarily disappointed.

This time, a series of blank stares met me.

Bates eyed me somewhat suspiciously, but returned with a, "Good morning, Jimmy. You seem to be in good spirits today."

"Indeed, Mr. Bates. Is a lovely day, a lovely month, and I can't think of a reason not to be smiling," I kindly supplied, sending an almost genuine smile his way. He returned it, but not without a glance at Anna first. Ah, well. Doubt he may, but he'll soon see that Jimmy Kent is new and improved! Am no longer The Fox, but am The Phoenix! Arisen from my ashes, I am born again!

Smile still in place, I made my way to Stella. At my arrival, the other maids she'd been chatting with silenced. Each one stared at me with wide eyes. Confused, Stella turned around. Her expression upon seeing me was one of weary happiness.

"Hello, Jimmy."

"Good morning—" Say it. Say her name, Phoenix. "—Stella."Her smile lit up her face upon hearing her name uttered out of my lips. Perhaps for the first time. Was doing such a good job, and it was only eight in the morning! "Mr. Carson says that Lady Edith will be taking breakfast in her room this morning since she's a little under the weather."

"Alrighty then. Is that all?" she asked flirtatiously.

Suppressing revulsion, I nodded charmingly. "It is. But I hope you have a good day today." Left before she could say something else awkward.

9:01 pm

Well, today was a smashing success, Diary. Mrs. Patmore even said so! Sort of. It was more of a:

"What's gotten into you? I've never seen a smile on that sour face of yours. And you've not been in me way and fussing about. Until now. GET ON."

I take that as a real compliment! Even if she did say my face is sour. Which the old Jimmy finds funny because if my face is sour then hers must be practically decomposing.

Anyway.

Am feeling well excited about this month. Even though I haven't seen Barrow all day. Well, at least not really. Saw him in passing a couple times, but he were always either chatting with someone or carrying something. I tried my best to make eye contact—so that he could experience my fresh, new attitude—but it never seemed to work out.

Ah, well.

Am now in me room, writing with my beautiful pen. Every so often the light of the gas lamps catches the smooth metal of it, throwing soft prisms on the walls. They look like stars, really. Tiny, dancing stars.

Much like the ones that keep Barrow company every night as he smokes…alone…outside.

Hm.

I suppose since I do not hate him anymore and am being a brand new, delightful person, I should go and keep him company. Is a shame that he must be so lonely all the time.

Yes. I think I will go visit him.

Dec 2

12:13 am

It appears Barrow likes being lonely.

After I had made up my mind to keep him company, I snuck down the stairs and through the hallways as stealthily as possible. Was delighted, upon stepping outside, to see that a light snow had begun to fall. Couldn't help but smile—was the perfect ending for a first day of December.

As I slowly approached Barrow, each step emitting a light crunch underfoot, I braced myself for the usual "James." Silence greeted me instead.

Was confused. Had he not heard me? Could he not see me? Had I turned invisible?

Upon closer inspection, I saw that he was focused on his cigarette, and the longer I watched him—awkwardly, on the side, eyes glued to his every movement—the less I could decipher between the smoke and his breath, both catching in the air, hanging between us heavily.

Past the point of greeting, I placed my nearly frozen hands in my pockets. Honestly do not know how he can stand there every night with just that little jacket on. Is freezing and highly uncomfortable.

I sniffed, the cold weather attacking my quickly reddening nose. (Why does that always happen?) "You're rather silent today."

Exhale, smoke. "Not got much to say."

The old Jimmy would have been exceptionally annoyed at such a response. The Pheonix played the game patiently. "Makes sense." Suppressed a shiver, sniffed a tiny bit. "It's cold out here."

He shrugged. "I don't much mind the cold." Of course he didn't.

Sighed. This was not going how I expected. I tried again. "I've decided to adopt a new, positive attitude. Since it's December and all. Good will toward men and all that," I smiled.

He looked down, the moonlight catching on his pale skin and casting shadows of blue, camouflaging him amongst the quietly falling snow. Suppose he may have been born from ice; is the personification of cold. Not like me, who's always ablaze, with my hot head and rash actions. I carried fire in my veins, he carried frost.

Still not looking at me, he mumbled a, "That'll be good for you."

And then more silence.

And still not one glance at me.

Could not help it. The fire within me sprang to life. "I don't bloody get it. You were kind to me yesterday—you were, don't deny it! You got me a present and everything, and you didn't have to. But now you can't even talk to me?"

He threw his cigarette into the soft clumps of snow beneath him, face void of reaction as though he had known every word before I could even say it. "It's not exactly uncommon to give presents on people's birthdays," was his smarmy response.

Oh, come ON.

My frustration bubbled. "But you didn't have to," I repeated.

"I best get to bed," he said curtly to the ground, ignoring my words, before walking past me.

"Of course," I growled to myself in frustration, turning to watch his retreating figure.

He must've heard, for at that point he suddenly flipped around, face near-livid, a complete turnaround from the perfect composure he had just held. "What—WHAT do you want?! Eh? How do you _think_ I should act? You seem to forget what happened only a few soddin' months ago. You were ready to throw me out of a job, behind bars, and now—you're cross because…because I'm not talking to you enough? Is that what it is? Is it because I'm not _kind_ to you?" His breathing had increased, great, aggravated heaves, and he stepped toward me, eyes black. "What do you bloody expect?" he cried, throwing his arms out.

I stared, feeling my insides collapse. This was not supposed to happen. This wasn't supposed to be that kind of month. This was going to be happy. I was going to be happy this month.

"I didn't want to sack you," I heard myself say. Was torn between anger and guilt. "I didn't want to make all that trouble, but it wasn't my fault alone. You started it!"

His look said it all. "Well, you ended it."

And he left.

6:12 am

Am sincerely trying to be positive today, Diary.

So I'll just refrain from saying anything at the moment.

4:34 pm

Ivy is making it very difficult to be kind to her.

In the kitchen today, she was blathering on while she were cleaning the dishes.

"I wonder what Mr. Barrow will get me for Christmas?"

My temper flared involuntarily. "Well you're very bold, just assuming he'll get you something." Oops. "But I'm sure he will," I added warmly, wanting to puke.

Ivy smiled. "He already has! He told me," she said proudly.

Tightened my grip on the glove I was holding. "Did he? That's lovely."

She nodded, dreamily drying a frying pan. "He said it were very special, and he picked it just for me! Said he needed to go to Ripon to get it." She positively beamed and I could have positively—No. Jimmy. New leaf.

"I'm sure it's very special if it's for you," I gushed through tight teeth, and before she pressed me buttons further, I left.

Barrow would not get Ivy something as special as my pen.

Or at least, he better not.

Dec 3

12:01 am

Oh, Diary! Feel as though a weight were lifted clean off my shoulders! The Phoenix has struck again!

Had been having a very bothersome day and it was only getting worse as I found myself stuck in an absolutely dreadful chat with Molesley about birdseed around half past nine. Wanted to hug Carson when he finally shooed us all to bed. I made to leave—quickly, before Molesley could attach himself once more—but lingered discreetly in the hall as everybody filed past, all making their way upstairs.

I already knew I wasn't going to my room.

It was obvious that this awful day was attributed to Barrow's negative comments the night before. Would not be burdened with such things during my month of rejuvenation, so meant to sort it out. Immediately.

And so I set off. Forcing a thoughtless mind, I boldly stepped outside. This time it wasn't snowing. And the stars were hidden.

"Barrow."

Found him sitting down on a grubby looking workbench. Near to the woodpile, I noted with distaste, shuddering at some choice memories. Almost made to sit down next to him, but hesitated. After last night's outburst, proximity was probably best left avoided.

He sighed upon hearing my voice, flicking a bit of ash. "Didn't think I'd be seeing you here anymore."

"Is that what you wanted?"

"Yes." He glanced at me. "And no." A rueful smile peeked out.

Relief exploded within me. Thank heavens. I chanced to sit down, keeping a fair distance between us.

"Look. I am sorry about everything. Before. I really am." He nodded almost imperceptibly. "But I thought that now, maybe….we could be friends? I know it's complicated so we don't have to tell anybody! But I could use someone on my side. And I expect you could, too." Panicked a little now that it was out in the open. Was this what I really wanted? To become mates with the man I'd hated for months?

 _Hated for all the wrong reasons_ , a small part of me reminded.

Noting his trepidation, I continued. "Surely it wouldn't be so bad? After all, you've been quite good to me. The least I can do is…be kind in return," I reasoned. This was making sense, right?

He finally turned to me. Studying my face with guarded eyes, he broke into a frustrated sigh. "Just when I think I've figured you out…" he trailed off, shaking his head and suppressing a smile. Felt pleased.

"Friends?" I offered, extending my hand. Hoping to pressure him into acquiescence, I gave him an expectant look.

His lips pursed as his eyes slid down to my open palm. He was losing the battle within himself. Losing…losing… He shook my hand. "Friends." Lost.

"You made that quite difficult, you know," I said lightly, looking up at the overcast sky.

"So did you," he muttered, giving me a look.

We sat there, side by side, staring up into the emptiness as the wind began to whisper. Pondered excusing myself to bed—the night was incessantly tugging at my eyelids.

But guilt and shame held me back, and the words that were balancing on the edge of my tongue begged for attention. Growing uncomfortable, I looked down at my hands.

Just say it, Jimmy. New leaf. New leaf. "I…really am sorry about before. I shouldn't have let O'Brien sway me like that. And I shouldn't have…been so unkind."

"Ah, well. You were right. It's not all your fault, is it?"

"Still. I'm sorry." I snuck a glance at his face. Serene. (don't know what else I was expecting)

"Thank you." A beat. "I'm sorry, too."

Neither of us attempted eye contact, our eyes skimming across fading snow, clouded sky, grubby woodchips—anywhere that wasn't each other. Made the experience much more bearable, and much less terrifying.

"Bedtime, I think," he suddenly spoke after a peaceful silence.

I nodded, and stood up. "Goodnight, Mr. Barrow."

He stayed seated. "Goodnight, James."

With one last small smile, I went inside, and then up to my room.

Is funny, Diary. Perhaps do not hate Barrow anymore, but did not expect to apologize to him either. Did not expect to feel so guilty and awful about everything that happened before. Have perhaps felt this way all along, even.

Is hard to distinguish emotions sometimes. There are just so many, all day, every day, and while I'm still trying to figure out the old ones, new ones get piled on.

Oh well. What matters is December is off to a great start. Have a new friend, a new attitude, and am ready for anything!

This may call for some new hair product. (has been looking very dull as of late, and not possessing the same golden sheen it usually does.)

2:41 pm

I think my positive attitude is beginning to have an effect on me. I am growing stronger!

I was able to resist negative activity towards Ivy today. Which was a great feat, indeed. (Though this may have been attributed to the fact that I don't want Mrs. Patmore after me again)

Was in the kitchen, chatting with Daisy about her plans to visit Farmer Dad, when Ivy and Barrow walked in, having a laugh. About what, I cannot imagine. A head of lettuce has more personality than that nitwit Ivy, so whatever had been said must have come from Barrow, and she was only laughing because she didn't know what else to do. Knew that I was in a high-risk situation, so I focused on Daisy as intently as I could. Gotta keep the positivity flowing, Jimmy.

"Well, I need to be on my way, Ivy, or Carson will ensure that it'll be my head Mrs. Patmore's preparing for the evening meal." Insert a sickening giggle from Ivy. "Ladies. James," I heard as he dismissed himself. Did not respond or look back. After all, mustn't flout our new friendship, as the gossip would be all abound.

"Isn't he wonderful?" Ivy gushed, almost skipping to the sink.

Daisy gave a small smile. "He has become quite kind. Not at all like before." (How bad was he?)

Saw that Mrs. Patmore's face looked uncharacteristically cloudy as she looked from Ivy to Daisy. "Daisy," she suddenly said. "Fetch some meat from the larder."

"What for?" she asked, confused.

"Fetch it, I say!"

And Daisy scuttled off. I watched Mrs. Patmore—she was obviously up to something. Wiping off her hands, she walked over to where Ivy stood, elbow deep in dishes.

"Ivy, dear," she suddenly said, a look of pity on her face. 'Dear?' This must be serious. "Don't you think it's time you give up on this Mr. Barrow nonsense?"

"Not at all, Mrs. Patmore! I like him very much."

"But he's too old for you!"

"He isn't, though! Lots of girls go with older boys."

"But he's not a boy, is he? He's a man."

This didn't sink in. "But we care about each other," she insisted. Oh, please.

Found that this was a perfect time to join the conversation. "Ivy," I said sweetly, walking up to her. "I must say, I agree with Mrs. Patmore. Mr. Barrow has got quite a few years on you, AND—" I quickly added as she made to protest, "he wouldn't make a good match for you."

"But I don't see what's wrong in it. He treats me good. And he isn't married."

I snorted. "Nor will he be."

Mrs. Patmore shot me a look. "Er—because he's so career-minded," I fixed. "He's married to his job. You'll never have a family with him, Ivy. Surely that's not something you would want."

Mrs. Patmore nodded her agreement. "The boy's right, Ivy. He's not going to settle down, and he's certainly not going to settle down with you."

"You don't know that! He likes me," she insisted. "He shows me."

Shows her? "Has he kissed you?" I couldn't help but demand.

"Jimmy!" Mrs. Patmore reprimanded, but I ignored her and cornered Ivy with my eyes.

"Well…no. But he has touched me hand."

"That's enough of that!" Mrs. Patmore interjected with finality.

Pfft. Yeah, I've had my hand touched, too. When I was FIVE. I shook my head. "That don't say naught, Ivy."

Ivy stared betwixt us, eyes crumpling. "Well, I don't care what you say! I am very fond of him, and I will stick by him."

At this, Mrs. Patmore gave me a hopeless look, clearly admitting defeat. Unable to think of anything constructive to say or do, I merely shrugged before going to fetch Alfred (who was, of course, with Stella).

Ivy is clearly touched in the head if she falls in love with a bloke who won't touch her.

7:01 pm

Was just nice to Alfred!

Saw that he had a big ol' grin on his face after we served dinner.

"Well, you've got quite the smile," I commented politely, puffing my chest with pride. Have discovered I'm very good at being a nice person.

Alfred's smile grew as he took off his gloves and turned to face me. "I've got the best girl in the world," he gushed.

Huh? "You have a girl?"

"Stella!"

Oh, that. "Ahh, yes! She's…quite!" I left it at that. Didn't want to lie, as that would go against my Pheonix-ness.

He stared off, dreamily. "Think I may love her. Don't mind sayin it cuz she's a looker." What a poet.

"Indeed. Well. I'm very…happy for you, Alfred," I forced out.

He nodded his thanks, then went to look for her.

Suppose I am happy that they've found each other—he doesn't hang about as much and he isn't as bloody annoying—but don't understand why Alfred has love and I don't. He's hideous.

Dec 4

12:11 am

I really must stop chatting with Barrow so late into the night. If this keeps up, I'm going to start falling asleep on the job!

Had a lovely visit, though.

Feeling a bounce in me step, I immediately greeted him as I reached the icy air (was snowing again! Lots!).

"Barrow."

"James." He turned to face me, mid-drag. "Are you going to make this a habit, then? Intruding on my solitude?"

I scoffed at his unrelenting arrogance. Was he ever going to stop? "I'm not intruding on anything, thank you. I just can't sleep is all." I smiled despite myself. "Besides, you said we were friends. Friends chat."

"During the day, yes."

"And night, too. Don't be a grump—it's Christmas!" Is good that Barrow now has me as a mate, otherwise he might spend the rest of his life as Scrooge.

He laughed, just a little bit, and sucked on his cigarette. "So this positive attitude—is it here to stay?"

Hm. Hadn't really thought about that. "I suppose… At least for the rest of the month."

A smirk. "Aim high."

Shook my head. Don't think he will ever stop being a sarcastic so-and-so.

We spent the next hour discussing everything—from having a laugh at Alfred, to me berating him about Ivy (again). Was nice. Wasn't difficult or tense—just nice.

But, of course, all good things must come to an end.

"You've all but turned into an icicle. Get inside and warm up, go on. I'll see you tomorrow," he said, looking a bit chilly himself. We really need to move his secret smoking spot.

Could not deny that I could no longer feel my body, so nodded and stood up. "Alright, then. Goodnight, Thomas."

I paused, startled at myself for having used his name in such a casual manner. Was that wrong? Was I going to get in trouble? Was he going to get the wrong idea?

"Mr. Barrow," he reminded, but there was a hint of humor in his tone.

"Goodnight, Thomas Barrow," I compromised, sending a shiny and festive grin his way.

"Goodnight, Jimmy Kent."

I couldn't fight the smile that pushed against my lips at hearing my name—my real name. Before I gave him the satisfaction of seeing it, I went inside, and up to bed.

Another day done, with great success!

Dec 6

6:22 am

Life is so lovely. The air is crisp, the ground is blanketed in snow, the scent of gingerbread wafts through the kitchens and halls, there are lights everywhere, pine trees scattering the grounds, ribbons, bells, bows, and tinsel everywhere…. It's perfect, Diary. Is such a lovely month, and everybody seems to be in higher spirits because of it.

Even Mr. Carson showed a softer side yesterday when Anna asked if her and Bates could go back to their cottage early (on account of some relative or other coming to stay).

He said (with Mrs. Hughes beside him, watching mindfully), "Of course. You may leave whenever you please, and the others will tidy up any loose ends."

"Thank you, Mr. Carson, Mrs. Hughes," smiled Anna, clearly pleasantly surprised.

"Yes, thank you. We'll be leaving shortly, if that's alright?" Bates beamed.

"Quite alright."

Was rather surprised myself. Carson never lets anybody leave before their work is done. I suspect his good nature may also have something to do with Lady Mary's condition. Often hear him discussing the soon-to-be-born child with Mrs. Hughes at the dinner table. Is always gushing about "the pitter patter of tiny feet on these great, historic floors" while Mrs. Hughes stares at him, unimpressed. Think perhaps Mr. Carson is a very sensitive man.

Things are just going so wonderfully! I can't wait to see what today has to offer!

5:11 pm

Have done another good deed. Am unstoppable. (Is there an animal that is even greater than a phoenix?)

Was having a bit of tea in the servants' hall with Alfred. I noticed he wasn't in his usual grinning, gobby form.

Spreading my wings, I gently asked, "Is summat the matter, Alfred?"

Head bent and visibly distressed, he muttered a pathetic, "I think Stella fancies someone else. She's been acting funny, always in a daydream, avoidin' me."

Oh, spectacular. Obviously, it was me she fancied. Another stalker.

"Oh, really? That's just too awful, Alfred," I tutted, slathering on the fake sympathy.

"I know. Now I won't have anybody."

My mind immediately travelled to Daisy. Really, I should put in a good word for her. But should I subject her to Alfred? Even if she did fancy him, it wasn't in her best interests. Then again, it is the season of giving.

I sighed. "Well, there's always Daisy. She's a lovely gal."

"Ivy's still with Mr. Barrow," Alfred plowed on, oblivious that I had said anything. Well, I tried.

"I don't know if I'd say she's _with_ him…" I mumbled.

"It's not right," he continued over me. I may as well not have been there. "All we know, and here he's pullin' the wool over her eyes. And I'm supposed to sit, silent?"

"Yes," I cut in forcefully. "It's not going to help anything. He won't do anything to hurt her, so just forget about it." Is impossible to be nice to Alfred, Diary. It's actually impossible.

"Why do you stick up for him?"

My hand automatically went to the pen in my pocket, and I clutched it tightly. Because he's a good person. "I'm not sticking up for him. I'm just using common sense."

He sighed and looked away, obviously in a pout. I wanted so badly to walk away, but the kind Phoenix within me forced me to stay. I can do this. "Perhaps if you try wooing Ivy she'll come around to you and stop hanging about Barrow. Just do something nice for her. Win her over. You can't be that much of a bumbling idiot. Er—not that you are." This was exhausting.

At this he looked over to me, seeming to consider. "Maybe you're right. Maybe I just need to show her how I feel. Proper like this time."

Hallelujah. "Exactly! Sounds swell. Alright, I'm going to change for dinner."

I left him to ponder his own inadequacies (I can still say what I want in my diary, right? I just have to be positive in my actions and speech, right? Right.)

Hopefully this works out. Then Barrow won't have to keep pretending to fancy Ivy!

Dec 7

12:23 am

Mentioned my conversation with Alfred to Barrow tonight.

"I'm going to train him, you see, so that she'll fancy him. Then you won't have to put on such a show for everybody."

He smirked, adjusting his cap against the icy wind. "You just won't let it go, will you?"

Is that all the thanks I get for trying to help him? Rude. "I'm _helping_ you," I said icily.

"Ah." He didn't sound convinced.

Snuck a glance at him, red lips wrapped around his cigarette, embers glinting in his eyes. He has such uncommonly red lips, Diary. If I did not know better, would think he painted his face. (I wonder…)

"You best stop, though. Talking to Ivy, I mean."

"And you best stop slacking. You forgot to collect His Lordship's beverage tray after dinner. Carson wasn't pleased."

Oh, shit. I _thought_ I'd forgotten something! "Blast! I got caught up with Daisy. She asked me to fetch Alfred. I completely forgot." Oh no. After all of last month's hard work, how could I have done something so foolish?

"It's not a big matter. Carson's too pleased to be cross with anyone these days. Now that his princess is pregnant."

Smiled at his subtle snark. I like when Barrow isn't all polite and clean; is more natural this way.

We chatted for awhile longer—mostly about upstairs (did not know that he hated Lady Edith! Says she is uppish and dull. He also hates Mr. Branson, apparently because he finds him to be false. Am not sure what he means, but is very interesting, Diary)—then it became too cold and too dark to bear.

"Goodnight, James."

"Goodnight, Thomas." Smiled devilishly.

"Pardon? I can't hear you."

"Thomas."

"Eh?"

"Mr. Barrow," I sighed, rolling my eyes. He just likes to lord his power over me.

Big smile. "Oh, of course. Thank you, James."

He really is something else…

Dec 8

4:20 pm

Am very cross with Daisy. She refuses to go on a Christmas walk with me.

Told her how beautiful the snow was, especially at night when the stars catch in it, but her only response was:

"I'm busy! I don't have time to watch stars get stuck in a pile of snow!"

Is the worst friend in the world.

Wish I had good friends during this joyous season…

4:23 pm

I'll ask Barrow! Tonight!

11:50 pm

Barrow refused to walk with me.

"Do you have any idea how long that will take?"

"Not long?"

He gave me a look. "I've got to get to bed soon. I'm not trekking to who knows where with you as a compass."

Is such a spoil sport.

Dec 9

1:39 pm

Am wearing thin, Diary.

Love Christmas, love this month, love being nice to Daisy, Mrs. Patmore, Hughes, Carson, Anna, and yes—even Barrow.

But hate being nice to Alfred.

He absolutely disregards my advice. If he would just listen to me, he would have Ivy under his ignorant and unwashed thumb! But no. He dilly dallies, gaping at her like she were a walking biscuit, and says cringe-worthy things like, "I could stare at you all day." (Even Mrs. Patmore yelled at him for that one. "You'll be staring at the door pretty soon if you don't start behaving yourself!")

Do not know what to do with him. Is a hopeless cause.

3:19 pm

Ugh! I cannot believe that I have been banned from the kitchen again!

Was just having a wee chat with Daisy (who still refuses to go on a Christmas walk with me) when Mrs. Patmore stepped out to chat with Mrs. Hughes in the hallway.

Saw that she had been making mince pies, and they were still cooling on the racks. Felt my stomach lurch toward them.

"What are these for?" I asked Daisy nonchalantly.

"What you think? Upstairs. For Christmas."

"But that's weeks away!"

"We make them every few days. Her Ladyship requests it."

I stared. "You make mincemeat pies continually….throughout December?"

"Of course."

Waited until Daisy's back was turned to shove one into my mouth. Was warm, delicious, and wonderfully sweet. Did not remember the last time I had something so delicious, Diary. Was absolute heaven.

But, of course, as I was chewing away the evidence, I heard a violent squawk. Shit.

"WHAT, pray tell, is in your mouth?"

Patmore.

Mouth still stuffed with pie, I unwillingly turned around. "Nothing," I mumbled through puffed cheeks, wondering if there was a way to spit it out so fast she wouldn't see. Probably not.

"Is that one of Her Ladyship's mince pies?!"

Shit. Well, I promised not to lie. Shit. I hesitated, then burst, "But Mrs. Patmore, it were only one!"

"One is QUITE enough!"

"I don't see what all the fuss is about! You've obviously sampled some—just look at ya!" Only after I said it did I realize how incredibly wrong that was. If I could have willed myself to die, I would have. Was being a terrible phoenix!

Her face became a ruddier red than usual. "OUT!" she burst, coming at me with a ladle. "GET OUT! Go on, back to the servant's hall! You're not to come in here for the REST OF THE WEEK!"

I momentarily stopped, looking back. "The rest of the week?!"

She thundered onward. "SHOO!" she screamed. I took off.

Think she is being absolutely ridiculous. Barrow is always teasing her, and she never seems to mind that! I'm always the victim!

4:01 pm

Saw that Barrow was alone in Carson's office, so snuck in without being seen and shut the door.

Waited for him to look up at me from the mess of papers he was sorting, for I was too distressed to speak.

Finally, he looked up, eyebrows popped up judgmentally. "What?"

"I've been banned," was all I could muster, feeling emotional. Have been so nice lately, is such a forgiving time of year, and here I was being targeted with hate!

"What do you mean?"

"I've been BANNED from the kitchen again!"

"What did you do?"

 

"I accidentally implied that Mrs. Patmore was overweight because she ate too much of her own cooking."He sniggered. I glared in response. "What? YOU say stuff like that all the time!"

"But I'm not a footman."

"You were!"

"Doesn't matter. You need to hold in that cheek of yours."

I huffed and crossed my arms. "Cannot believe this is happening again. I've been so nice! And it's for a week this time, too."

"A week?"

I nodded glumly.

"Well, Mr. Carson is not going to be pleased."

Felt a little queasy. "Oh, God. And after I've finally gotten in his good graces again!" Was horrorstruck. "I need to be alone right now," I agonized, leaving without another word.

How horrid today is.

7:46 pm

Love Barrow. Love him.

Was dinner time, and Alfred and I were due upstairs at any moment. Had to wait by the stairs for Daisy (she offered to bring me my trays since I'm "not allowed ANYWHERE near Mrs. Patmore"), when Mr. Carson came up to me. His eyebrows looked extra bushy and his eyes extra angry.

"James. Why aren't you upstairs? Where's Alfred?"

"He's just in there, getting the sauce." I nodded toward the kitchen.

"And you?"

Lord, take me now. "Er. Well. I'm just waiting for Daisy to come."

"Daisy? What on Earth? Forget that nonsense and get your tray and head upstairs _now_!"

"I can't."

"Excuse me?"

"I can't go in the kitchen."

"What?" His eyeballs threatened to pop out.

I gulped. "Well…" I cannot possibly tell him that I've been banned for calling Mrs. Patmore fat.

"Ah, James." I turned to see Barrow. The heavens sang. "Has Daisy brought you your tray yet?" he asked me politely.

"Er—no, I'm just waiting for her now."

"Mr. Barrow. What is this? What's going on?" Carson spluttered.

"Not to worry, Mr. Carson. The kitchen's just a bit cramped at the moment. I've ordered Daisy to fetch everything James might need in order to keep things running a bit more smoothly. Do not fret, it's all under control," he said with a reassuring smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.

Mr. Carson grumbled but nodded. I looked to Barrow in hopes to smile my thanks, but he walked past me, following closely behind Carson.

Daisy appeared soon after, apologizing for her tardiness, and I rushed up the stairs, Alfred trailing behind.

Do not know what I would do without Barrow.

Dec 11

10:10 am

Alfred just told Ivy that she were "as delicious as a Christmas turkey."

I give up.

10:23 am

No. No, Diary, I regret my previous entry. I will not give up on the hopeless case that is Alfred.

I am kind. I am reborn, I am kind, and I have patience. Will help Alfred. Will give advice more forcefully in hopes that he'll actually listen to me, and will succeed.

5:45 pm

The best advice I could think of giving Alfred today was, "Don't talk to Ivy for the rest of the day. Not a peep." So far, he's been doing a good job. Perhaps there is hope for us yet.

But, better still, just had a chat with Barrow.

"I've spoken to Mrs. Patmore," he said, catching me in the hall. "You're allowed back in the kitchen."

I erupted into the biggest smile of my life. "What? Really? You did it?"

He nodded, but gave me a sharp eye. "I did. Now behave yourself." He swept passed me, continuing in a brisk walk.

"Thank you!" I called.

Feel very pleased. Can always count on Barrow.

6:01 pm

Just went into the kitchen…

I entered slowly, hoping that if I walked quietly and cautiously, I would not startle or enrage Mrs. Patmore. (Am learning to treat her like a wild boar—with extreme caution and sneak.) Ivy and Daisy stilled their movements upon seeing me, their frightened eyes darting between me and the ferocious woman before them.

At last, Mrs. Patmore's eyes rose from the vegetables she'd been chopping. As soon as she saw me, her eyes narrowed, but she said nothing, her hand on her hip, her other hand resting on the knife. (I didn't fail to notice that detail.)

Pushing my luck and courage, I walked a little further in, near to the counter. I somehow kept eye contact—I couldn't look away.

"I've got me eye on you," she suddenly warned.

"I'm your obedient servant!"I meant to sound kind and strong, but it came out as a squeak. My face reddened.

"Yes, I'm sure," she half-laughed with a roll of her eyes, returning to her work. "Just keep to yourself, do your job, and keep your paws off me food!"

"Oh, I will," I promised faithfully. "And Mrs. Patmore," I began, needing to say something complementary but unsure of what. "I…find you very attractive!"

What did I just say?

She stilled, mid-chop, eyes staring at me. For the first time in her life, Mrs. Patmore was speechless.

As were Ivy and Daisy, whose mouths were agape.

I froze like a mouse stood before a cat. "I've got to go," I spluttered, and actually ran away.

Am never going to speak of this again.

Dec 12

12:01 am

Like Barrow very much, but also hate him, too. If it weren't for the fact that I'm being The Phoenix this month, I may just stop visiting him every night!

No sooner had we sat down (very bundled up this time, as it were even more cold than usual) when he smugly looked over to me, sliding the cigarette out from behind his ear, and said:

"So you find yourself very attracted to Patmore, eh?"

The Phoenix burst into flame.

"Who told you that?!" I demanded, standing up in a rage. Does he know everything?!

He grinned, on the verge of laughter, while he lit his cigarette. Blowing out the first tendrils of smoke, he replied with an easy, "Ivy told me."

Of. Bloody. Course.

"You need to stop chattin' with her—I mean it! Nothing good comes from it!"

"On the contrary, I find it's proving very useful."

"Well—well, I'm just going to leave, then! I'm going to bed! Right now!" I threatened, chin up.

His calm features regarded me without concern. "Someone's lost their Christmas cheer."

"Have not! I'm just…expressing it in a different way."

"I see."

"I really am gonna go to bed," I threatened again, a little less adamantly. My feet stayed rooted to the ground.

"Alright. But before you go, you could at least tell me how it all started. You know, when you first realized you felt something more. Is it the way the light of the gas lamps catch in her hair? Her voice? Perhaps when she pounds the meat?"

Blushed immensely. "Sod off," I grumbled, cheeks still reddening. I sat back down. Before he could made a smug remark, I said, "I'm only staying because I'm not tired yet."

He nodded, his eyes laughing. Would have been more angry if it wasn't so refreshing to see him in such a state of expression. Was not all straight lines and smooth surfaces. "Naturally," he replied, failing to resist a grin.

Surprisingly though, he didn't mention it again, and he behaved very well for the rest of the night.

Still. Is such a rude man.

12:51 pm

Daisy saved a mince pie for me! Said she set it aside when she made them this morning, just for me!

"I feel awful bad whenever you get banned from the kitchen," she said woefully.

Smiled and thanked her, and ate it immediately. Love Daisy, love pie.

Is a wonderful day!

6:30 pm

It's snowing again!

10:47 pm

That's it. I hate Alfred. I am officially excluding him from my vow to be kinder to all beings. Alfred no longer counts because he is not a being, he is a large and ugly clump of red mud. And I'm not going to scratch that out, because I mean it and I'm going to say it! The Phoenix has spoken!

You see, Diary, after we all had our dinner, we were chatting about as we usually do, when Mrs. Hughes came walking in with her usual kindly smile.

"It's snowing quite a bit outside," she commented. "I expect you'll be happy to hear that!"

As she settled herself into her usual spot next to Carson, Alfred sat up straighter. "Can we go outside for a bit, Mr. Carson? Just to see?"

Carson eyed him somewhat suspiciously. "Just to see snow fall?"

"Aye. It is Christmas, after all," he prodded. Rolled my eyes.

"Of course you can," Mrs. Hughes smiled. Carson's head whipped to her. "It's just a bit of snow, it's hardly troublesome," she reasoned before he could open his mouth.

"I quite agree, Mrs. Hughes," Barrow smiled warmly. "A bit of fun never hurt anyone, Mr. Carson."

Carson looked Barrow up and down. "Oh yes it has. But—" he added, as both Barrow and Mrs. Hughes made to protest—"I will allow it. Come back in at a reasonable time."

Alfred grinned and shot upwards, the hallboys following suit. He looked to me. "You comin'?" he asked.

Uh. "Sure." Why not? It might be fun.

Joined them and made to go outside. Wished I could have asked Barrow to join, but as everybody was there, could not risk it. Instead I caught his eye and sent him a look which I hope conveyed my message of: 'I don't like Alfred, but I like snow, so I guess I'm doing this.'

Well. When we went outdoors (which was Barrow's secret smoking spot, I noted with a slight fondness) I stared up at the sky and the great clumps of white fluff falling from it. Was very pretty, I must admit.

"Oi! Watch out!" I heard a hallboy call.

Startled, I looked over. But it was too late. A large, chunky, icy snowball smashed me in the face. Did my best not to scream or cry, and instead spluttered like a fish out of water, wiping my face on my sleeve. Through the blur of pain and melted snow, I searched for the culprit.

"Who done it?!" I demanded. Heard a snigger to my left. I spun around.

Alfred.

Not surprising. "YOU BLOODY—" I began, running towards him.

With a great big laugh, he ran to the door. "Night, mate!" he laughed, and the hallboys soon followed suit, one or two of them glancing back at me with slight sympathy.

Am still mad. Hate Alfred.

Revenge will be mine.

Dec 13

4:29 pm

Revenge is a bad thing. A very, very bad thing.

Had decided that the best way to get Alfred back for his abominable behavior last night was to give him a taste of his own medicine. Planned on fulfilling my clever scheme around the same time we went out yesterday, but as luck would have it, the perfect opportunity sprang up much, much earlier.

Mr. Carson announced that Lady Rosamund had arrived for her Christmas stay, so me and Alfred went outside to take care of business. Everybody made their greetings before slowly spilling back inside, leaving Alfred, Carson, and me.

"Bring them to her usual room," he reminded us dutifully as we attended to her bags, before turning around to leave.

With Carson's back facing us, I knew that now was my chance. Alfred, who was already making his way inside with the first of Lady Rosamund's cases, was completely unsuspecting, back facing me.

Quickly, I gathered the largest snowball I could. Feeling the joy of vengeance, I chucked—as speedily and efficiently as I could—the mighty ball towards his ginger-stick frame.

I watched it fly, first with delight, then with horror. Time slowed as I watched the ball skim clean past Alfred, and instead collide perfectly with the back of Carson's head.

Was immediately flooded with extreme panic.

"WHAT ON EARTH?!" he thundered, spinning around violently, eyes wild. I stood there helplessly, mouth agape. "JAMES. WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING?!"

Without thinking, I pointed upward. "Mr. Carson! Are you alright? A great clump of snow fell from the roof! Just up there!" I shoved my finger in the direction of Downton's spirals.

A fraction less livid, he turned his face upward. It was believable enough—snow dripped tantalizingly close to the edge of the mighty roof.

He turned back around, and the expression on his face told me that he felt the same. "I see. I apologize for my outburst. I now see that it was not your fault."

Alfred gaped. "But Mr. Carson—he chucked it at you!" Damn Alfred to Hell.

I snorted, keeping my panic at bay. "Mr. Carson, really. Why would I throw a ball of _snow_ at you? After all, you are my mentor," I reminded him sincerely.

His chest puffed ever so slightly. "Indeed, James. Alfred, I trust you will not speak out of turn in future. And if you've nothing honest to say, I suggest not saying anything at all." With a stiff nod our way, he returned indoors.

I sighed with relief, but barely, for was still quite put out. (If he thought I had lied like he did Alfred, he would've done more than just slap my wrist. I'll never understand why he likes Alfred so much more than me.)

Alfred glared at me as I walked past him with the rest of Lady Rosamund's luggage. "Liar," he sneered.

Merely gave him my best smile in response, and kept on.

Am still a little terrified. Was so close, Diary. Too close.

11:50 pm

Think that Barrow suffers from a severe lack of Christmas spirit. Tried to convince him to sing Christmas carols with me tonight.

"Absolutely not."

"Why?"

"No."

"Why?"

"Not a chance."

"It'll be good practice for when we all sing in the servants' hall!"

He gave me a look. "Who says we're doing that?"

Pouted. "Just one?"

"No."

"Not even one line?"

"No."

Eventually, I just gave up and we discussed other things. Am still cross with him, though. And even more so because he still won't let me call him 'Thomas.' Every day he finds it funnier and funnier, but I think it's sillier and sillier. I don't care if he's my superior, I can call my friend whatever I please!

Sigh.

Do not understand him.

Dec 16

8:13 am

Saw that Alfred looked like a kicked puppy this morning at breakfast so, giving in to curiosity, I asked him what was wrong.

"Stella. Now she won't even talk to me. I tried to speak to her this morning, to see if we could fix things since Ivy doesn't like me, but she practically ran out the room. I know it's somebody else—I'm sure of it now. She's always talking to the other maids in whispers, and I always see her smiling." He dropped his head. "When I find out who it is, I'm going to kill him!"

Hah, it was obviously me. Wished I could tell him, but it would be more fuss than it was worth, so merely shook my head and said, "Ivy will come around. You just wait."

Is strange, though. Stella has not approached me once about her immense and all-encompassing love for me.

Hm.

3:11 pm

Has been a good day, Diary. Was on top form: I caught the kettle Daisy dropped, stayed out of Mrs. Patmore's way, and even got a compliment from Mrs. Hughes because she overheard me telling Stella how pretty her name was—which was quite a task.

However. Something is afoot.

Was in the kitchen dropping off a tray when I saw Barrow was there, chattering away with Ivy, Stella, Daisy, and even Mrs. Patmore. Would normally have left but could not help but wonder what they were all caught up in, as Mrs. Patmore never allows lollygagging in her kitchen—not even from Mr. Carson.

"That's not true!" I heard Stella accuse playfully, followed closely by Daisy's, "Aw, go on." Both girls were giggling.

"Oh, you're just playing, you are!" Mrs. Patmore then dismissed.

"I'm serious!" Barrow insisted, clearly enjoying the reaction.

"I believe you, Mr. Barrow," Ivy smiled.

"Thank you, Ivy."

"You're just trying to get a rise out of everyone," Mrs. Patmore said, waving her hand at him and returning to work.

My interest was piqued.

"What are you on about?" I asked smoothly, walking up to the little group.

Stella smiled, hands on her hip. "Mr. Barrow was just telling us that he has royal blood."

Tried not to burst into laughter. Barrow? Royal? "Did he?" I asked as I turned to him, clearly amused. "How so?"

He delivered a delicate, yet smug, smile. "My great-grandfather was of the Austrian royal family."

"What was his name?" I challenged.

"Jimmy, don't be so unkind," Ivy said, taking a step closer to Barrow.

Exercised my new-found kindness enough not to roll my eyes. "Well?" I demanded, ignoring her.

"His name was Albert Frederick," he said smoothly, without a blink. "You can look it up, if you like."

I pursed my lips. "I will," I said, forcing an edge of kindness.

"Well, look at us! In the presence of royalty, we are! Shall I kiss your hand, your highness?" Stella teased, poking his chest flirtatiously.

My jaw clenched. Always knew I didn't like her and her nasty name. Do not approve of such tastelessness.

Ivy, noticing the glint in Stella's eyes, stepped even closer to Barrow, placing her arm through his. "He doesn't need his hand kissed. Do you, Mr. Barrow?"

He smiled down at her, gently removing her arm. "I do not." He glanced away. "But Mrs. Patmore just might. I'll leave you _ladies_ to her," he said, giving me the last look before he walked away.

Held back a growl. He obviously did that on purpose.

But have other things on my mind right now. Do not like how Stella acted today.

Dec 17

12:30 am

I just scolded Barrow for his rudeness earlier.

Said, "Now, I am a forgiving and caring person, so I want you to know that I am not mad at you in any way. But never call me a lady again."

"I'll do as I please, James." The smoke curled around his words, but his face looked less than sinister.

Shook my head, and gently elbowed him. "You're very mean to me," I said with feigned hurt.

"Oh, come now. You've never seen me mean."

"I haven't?"

He snorted. "Not nearly."

I smiled, scooting a bit closer to him subconsciously (because of the cold), making our knees touch. Was instinctually inclined to move, but resisted the urge, needing the warmth. "I've heard you were quite the bastard," I said angelically.

At this, he laughed out loud. "That's a fair assessment."

I tilted my head as I studied him twirling his cigarette between his fingers. "Will you tell me?"

He paused. "Someday. Not tonight."

I sighed, looking down. "Time for bed?" I guessed.

He nodded. "Goodnight, James."

"Goodnight Thom—"

"James," came the warning.

"Mr. Barrow," I finished, rolling my eyes with exaggeration.

As he passed me, his smoke-tinged fingers ruffled my hair. For an instant, felt a small spring of something inside my chest; but then he removed his hand and it was gone.

Think Barrow is insufferable.

But in a how-did-I-survive-life-at-Downton-before-him sort of way.

4:10 pm

Just asked Carson if he could forbid Alfred from speaking from now on.

"Certainly not!" he exclaimed, shooting an appalled look to Mrs. Hughes.

"What if it's just between the hours of one and five pm?" I suggested.

He opened his mouth to protest, then quickly closed it. He seemed to actually be considering it.

"Absolutely not, James," Mrs. Hughes said sternly, shooting a glare at Mr. Carson. "I don't know where such a silly thought came from, but I suggest you go about your duties before you come out with anymore nonsense."

"Yes, Mrs. Hughes."

Dammit. I almost had him…

Dec 19

6:05 am

Am feeling extra positive today.

Won the tete-a-tete with Barrow last night. Had had a particularly lovely night (he said we could walk in the snow! Was so lovely in the dark, with all the stars and the full moon) and I even walked him to his room (being a gentleman).

"Aren't you glad we took that Christmas walk?" I smiled, leaning against the wall.

He tilted his head, studying me. "I suppose."

"So we can do it again?"

A flicker of amusement. "Of course."

Felt my heart smile. "Great. Well, goodnight _Thomas_ ," I emphasized daringly.

I watched him.

He opened his mouth to protest, but sighed instead, and responded with a smiling, "Goodnight, James."

Felt victorious and warm as I bounded to my room.

Love December. Love today.

3:12 pm

Have just returned from the village! I got new shoes for the servant's ball!

Am going to dance so good, everybody is going to stare and tell me how pretty I am, I just know it!

Cannot wait! But am not quite sure when it is. Must ask.

4:33 pm

Blast.

Just asked Anna when the servant's ball is.

"The sixth of January," she replied, folding up a frock.

What? "January?" I asked, confused.

She looked over to me. "Yes. We always have it on the twelfth night of Christmas."

My face fell. "At my previous job, it was always on Boxing day," I said sadly.

She gave me a pitying smile. "Aw, cheer up. It's not that far away."

Smiled in return. I do like Anna very much.

But am very disappointed in this turn of events.

Dec 22

4:31 pm

Alright, Diary. I can only take so much. I'm not sure if there's a gas leak or if the worst sorts in the world come here to work, but I have absolutely HAD IT with certain people.

Namely Stella.

Was having a chat with Alfred in the servants' hall about Ivy, when Stella came in. Naturally, Alfred panicked and ran.

Stella stared at his retreating figure, amused. "Well he were in a rush to leave, weren't he?"

"That's Alfred for you," I replied chummily, getting up to leave before she tried to sink her claws into me or speak in general.

"It's ever so awkward—trying to avoid him, that is," she said, sipping her tea, eyes locked on me.

"I'm sure it is," I smiled, heading for the door, before she started up again.

"It's just that, it'd be awfully hard to tell him the truth." She smiled at me.

"The truth?" I was only half interested.

She nodded. "Aye. It's not him I fancy."

And here it comes. Oh, joy. "You don't say." I didn't bother feigning interest. (I'm going to take Stella off of my New Leaf list. Is a whore.)

A devious smile formed on her face as she began walking closer to me. Oh no. Oh bleedin no. "'S true. And maybe you could help me with it?" She came closer.

"Oh, and how's that? I must warn you, I'm not a very helpful person!" I panicked, taking a step back.

Her smile widened. "Nonsense." She took another step forward. "So. Jimmy. You chat with Ivy a lot, yes?"

I blinked, completely taken off guard. Ivy? What? Where was this going?

"Uh. I suppose…"

"Good. So then you know how long she's been hanging about Mr. Barrow."

My blood chilled. Oh no. "What do you mean?"

"How serious is it?" she pressed, eyes determined.

"Not very."

"You don't say!"

"Why is it your concern?"

She winked at me. "I suspect I could be a lot better company than Ivy could."

Had to actually physically restrain myself from lunging at her by grasping onto a chair. Was this a joke?! She fancied Thomas?! First Ivy, now her?! And why wasn't anybody after ME?!

"I best return to my work," I finally forced out through clenched teeth.

Sometimes I hate this place.

Dec 24

6:30 am

It's Christmas Eve! Am so excited! And it's my half-day today!

1:15 pm

Am off for the rest of the day. But what should I do? It must be something festive.

1:20 pm

I know! I'm going to make Christmas cards!

6:52 pm

Have just finished the Christmas cards. Am exhausted and my hands hurt.

Thomas' card took three and a half hours. (I wanted to make sure it was special…)

Must go down to dinner now.

9:11 pm

Daisy snuck me another mince meat pie. Just love that girl.

Well, I suppose I best get to bed. Have not seen Thomas for awhile. He left the servants' hall about an hour ago and never came back.

I guess it won't kill me if we don't have our nightly chat…

Oh! I just heard a knock on my door!

9:15 pm

Was Thomas. Said he had to help Carson prepare all the Christmas dishes for tomorrow but was now finished and wondered if I wanted to go on a walk.

Of course I said yes.

Am going to get proper bundled up now. Love Christmas so very much!

9:16 pm

Perhaps I should bring his card?

That way he can read it without everybody seeing. Yes.

Dec 25

12:42 am

It's Christmas! And is already such a perfect day!

Just came back from my walk in the snow with Thomas. Was so lovely. A light snow was even falling, so it felt very cozy and festive. At one point, we came upon the most beautiful bush of red berries.

He snapped a twig off, handing it to me. "Poisonous berries?" he offered.

I ignored his smirk and took the offering. "Is this my Christmas present?" I teased.

"Indeed. And my present is you eating them."

I stared at him. "But then I'll die."

He smiled.

Understanding his wickedness, I smacked his arm with the berry branch. "You are terribly unkind."

"Maybe sometimes." He stopped walking and looked upward. "Happy Christmas, Jimmy," he suddenly said, staring up at the stars.

My heart caught, as it always did when he deemed to speak my name. "Happy Christmas, Thomas," I near-whispered, watching him watch the stars. He looked over to me, smiling. I supposed it was the perfect time to give him his card.

"Here," I said, brandishing it, "I made this for you."

Unable to hide his surprise, he gently took it in his gloved hands. "Thank you," he mumbled, his eyes fixed on it. He looked up at me, amused and impressed. "Did you make this?"

I nodded, feeling uncommonly bashful.

The corners of his lips tugged into a smile and he returned his attentions to it, opening it. " _Dear Thomas,_ " he read aloud, " _I hope you appreciate all the hard and diligent work I have put in this Christmas card. I wanted you make yours extra special because you deserve it, and because I owe you many nice things after all you've done for me. Happy Christmas, and feel free to treat me better than everybody else today. Love, Jimmy._ "

He reread it again, this time to himself, and his smile grew wider. Finally, he looked up at me. "Thank you," he said sincerely, any edge in his voice gone, replaced with a warmth that was almost uncharacteristic to him.

Smiling back the unexplainable emotions within me, I managed a, "You're welcome."

He carefully tucked the card in his jacket, and we began to walk again.

Only just got back. Am still frozen and cannot feel my hands or feet, but wish that we were still out there walking. Thomas is such a nice walking-partner. And has such a lovely way of walking. And, surprisingly, is so kind.

Am so glad Thomas liked his card. Am even more glad that him and I are such good mates now. Is the best Christmas present I could ever get. Ever.

9:01 am

Today has been just wonderful thus far, Diary! I can't wait to give everybody else the cards I made them! (I think I shall do it before dinner. Seems like a proper time for heartwarming sentiments.)

Carson gave a speech at breakfast about how we've done very well this year, and how he hopes we will all have a very happy Christmas together. Love Carson. Was not sure if I did before—as he is very strict and scary—but now I know that I do. Love everybody here!

Except Alfred.

Who, by the way, is a very creepy person. Sometimes I wonder if he's regressing with Ivy instead of progressing. This morning he wordlessly stared at her for ten minutes while she was setting up our trays. Could tell that she was very uncomfortable (rightfully), but was too polite to say anything. Almost felt bad for her, but then remembered that she is obsessed with Thomas. Which needs to stop.

I must admit, Diary, have been doing an awful job of tutoring Alfred on the secret, seductive ways of romance as of late. Have been very preoccupied with the holidays and more important people. But I MUST try harder. If I don't, and Alfred doesn't win Ivy's affections, she will stay with Thomas, and he'll get sucked into an empty life of lies and coldness! Cannot allow this, for he is my new best mate.

Hm. Must do something.

Must do something TODAY!

But what?

9:29 am

BY JOVE, I'VE GOT IT!

MISTLETOE!

12:15 pm

Have just asked one of the maids to knick me some mistletoe from Lady Edith's bedroom. (Is strange. Did not know she had so much of it, but apparently she buys it in bulk every year and strategically places it around Downton so that it actually leads a trail to her bedroom. Nobody's quite sure why, because they say that nobody has ever actually followed this trail before. Mysterious…)

Am now going to stealthily place it in the servants' hall doorway. Then, after dinner when everybody's chatting and celebrating, will tell Alfred to stand under it, and then call Ivy in, and then, just as she's passing through, will make a fuss about how they're both under the mistletoe! And then he'll kiss her, and since she's not used to being kissed, she'll fall in love!

Is the perfect plan!

12:34 pm

Have successfully implanted the mistletoe. However. I almost got caught.

"James, why are you standing on a chair?" came Mrs. Hughes' concerned voice.

Praising all that is holy that I'd already secured the mistletoe to the doorway, I hopped down from the chair immediately.

"I'm praying," I immediately said. (Note to self: must have Thomas train me to lie.)

"Praying?" she repeated, looking at me with weary eyes.

I gave her a warm smiled and nodded earnestly. "Oh, yes. I like to pray while standing on chairs. The closer to Heaven, the better!" I enthused, pumping a jolly fist in the air.

Her kind eyes possessed a healthy sum of judgment, but she nodded slowly. "I see. Well, then. Perhaps you can kindly postpone your prayers until after your work is done." I nodded, and she smiled more genuinely. "Which won't be long, now. I've convinced Mr. Carson to let everybody have the rest of the day off, after all."

"But what about Lady Mary's condition? Is he not worried?" I asked, surprised.

She chuckled. "Oh, heavens! He's about to keel over! But there's nothing any of us can do about it, now is there. Now, go on."

I smiled, feeling both relief and gratitude. "Thank you, Mrs. Hughes."

Though how she didn't see that sprig of mistletoe, I have no idea.

3:30 pm

Carson [begrudgingly] let us all off for the rest of the day! And Mrs. Patmore is making us tea and hot cocoa!

I love Christmas. Wish I could give everybody their cards now…

3:31 pm

Screw it. I'm giving everybody their cards.

4:27 pm

Have just given everybody their cards! Feel very proud of myself. I gave one to everybody! (except Molesley—oops!)

Mrs. Hughes was touched, Mr. Carson surprisingly pleased ("Why, James. How very thoughtful of you."), Anna and Bates loved theirs and I think my artistic skill may have truly shocked them, O'Brien was…well….silent—which is always better than a rude remark, Daisy hugged me, the maids all blushed—except Stella, because hers was blank (I have nothing to say to that little floozy), and Mrs. Patmore was so touched that she gave me a mince pie. Wanted to hug her, Diary. Have never seen such kindness from such a vulgar woman. Almost brought a tear to me eye!

Ivy was a little less pleased. Her "card" was actually an old candy wrapper with 'Happy Christma" written on it. (I didn't have enough room for the 's') She thanked me, but I saw her throw it away out of the corner of my eye. Rude. May have put less effort into hers, but she didn't have to throw it away right in front of me!

Alfred was even less pleased. He stared at it, blank faced. "It's a dead leaf."

I smiled, patting him on the back. "It's _your_ dead leaf. Happy Christmas, Alfred."

Feel so accomplished and filled with the Christmas spirit!

4:34 pm

Ahem.

Apparently Thomas has given Ivy her big present. She was just gushing about it.

"He got me a monogrammed handkerchief!" she squealed, ecstatic. "Isn't it perfect?! I feel like a proper lady!"

Am ignoring her. Am also ignoring the fact that Thomas seems to think that giving out items with a person's initials on them is a great, all-around gift for everybody. And is therefore not special.

Oh well. Here comes Carson.

4:59 pm

Carson's passing out the wine!

5:14 pm

Mrs. Hughes said we could all play in the snow! (except Bates—do not think canes work well in snowdrifts)

5:39 pm

Everybody is outside! Daisy and Ivy are catching snowflakes on their tongues, Anna and the maids are building a snowman, and Alfred and the hallboys are having snowball throwing contests (Alfred's losing). Even O'Brien is out here, all bundled up with just her face poking out, but she looks as if she's about to murder something.

But where's Thomas?

 

5:57 pm

Found him inside, sipping cocoa and smoking.

Sat down next to him (nobody was around) and asked, "Why aren't you outside?"

"I've not had nearly enough drinks to find that fun," he smirked.

Glared at him, grabbed his cigarette, and stubbed it out.

"Hey!" he protested, but I stood up and grabbed him by the arm.

"You're not spending Christmas alone, now get up and come outside with us!"

Thought maybe he was going to smack me, but he allowed himself to be dragged outside. Is now standing with O'Brien, also looking as if he's going to murder something.

It appears they're speaking. Odd. I thought they hated each other.

6:11 pm

Am shocked!

Asked Thomas why he and O'Brien were talking. He laughed.

"Miss O'Brien and I go a ways back. We chat quite a bit. Or rather—we used to."

What? They had been friends? What?

"But she tried to convince me to fire you!"

His lips pursed lightly. "It's not all that surprising—it's her way. Besides, we've done worse." And with that, he went inside.

 _We've_ done worse?

Do I know anything about this place or the people in it?

8:29 pm

Have been having the most wonderful evening. Everybody's sat around the table, nibbling on treats, pulling crackers (am a little upset that I didn't win ANY), chatting, and at one point, I played Christmas carols on the piano while everybody sang. Everybody's relaxed and merry. Except Carson—I overheard him fretting to Mrs. Hughes about Lady Mary having to fend for herself upstairs.

"But her condition!" he insisted.

"Mr. Carson," Mrs. Hughes said impatiently, "For the last time, she will be just fine. Now relax and enjoy yourself!"

They're such a silly pair.

The only bad part of the night so far is that, while we were singing Christmas carols, Ivy called Thomas over to join us. I told her he wasn't going to, but lo and behold, he actually came walking over! Was stunned.

"Just this once," he smiled, and then looked to me. "James, do you know 'The Holly and the Ivy?'" he asked.

I nodded, keeping the glaring confusion out of my eyes.

"Let's hear it," he smiled. So I played it, and whenever he sang 'Ivy,' he would give her a special smile and lean in a little bit. She kept blushing and giggling, and at one point she even put her arm through his. Was so angry, I kept smashing the piano keys.

But no matter.

Is a day of positivity.

9:00 pm

Ivy is irritating me. Time to get Alfred and her under the mistletoe.

9:37 pm

THAT JEZZEBELL.

Am absolutely LIVID, Diay. LIVID, I SAY.

Alfred has NO brain, and IVY NEEDS TO BE THROWN IN HER OWN OVEN.

Was just about to orchestrate the mistletoe kiss between Ivy and Alfred, and I was giving Alfred his instructions. "Alright, so you stand in the doorway, okay? And then I'll call Ivy over. That's it. But whatever you, do NOT move. Understand?"

He nodded, a giddy look in his eye. "This is brilliant, Jimmy!"

Smiled. He was right. "Alright, now go!"

He went over to stand in the doorway, and gave me a big grin. Trying to return it, I prepared to call for Ivy. Opened my mouth, but was immediately cut off.

"Anybody in the mood for some pudding?" Mrs. Patmore shrieked, walking into the servants' hall with plum pudding.

Everybody cheered and clapped and rushed to their seats. Including Alfred.

"Alfred!" I scolded, but it was too late. The bleeding idiot.

"Ivy, fetch the plates. Ivy? IVY!" Mrs. Patmore called, upon realizing Ivy was still in the kitchen.

"I'll fetch her," Thomas offered kindly, getting up.

I thought nothing of it.

Until I looked up.

Ivy, who had heard her name called, was coming from the kitchen just as Thomas was coming from the servants' hall. They bumped into each other. In the doorway.

"My apologies," he smiled, taking a step back.

She looked up at him and smiled—all red cheeks and bright eyes, before her eyes caught sight of something. She pointed. "Mistletoe!" A deeper blush hit her cheeks as she made eye contact with Thomas, whose smile—just momentarily—faltered.

"So it is." His voice was neutral, but I detected a layer of discomfort.

She smiled up at him expectantly.

His features smoothing into serenity, he flashed a smile, and leaned down. And kissed her.

Yes, it was on the cheek. Okay.

BUT HE KISSED HER. IN FRONT OF EVERYBODY. AS IF WE DON'T ALL KNOW HOW MUCH OF A LIE THAT IS.

But everybody "awwww"d and applauded like it was something, and I tried my best not to shove Alfred's head in his pudding, because, really, this was all his fault.

Do not mind that Thomas and Ivy kissed. Not in that way. I just feel it is very dishonest and unprofessional, and mistletoe is a ridiculous tradition that makes no sense.

And 'Ivy's an ugly name.

And she ruined Christmas.

Dec 26

1:34 am

Well, Christmas has been salvaged!

Carson let us all stay up later than usual, so we had a few rounds of wine while we ate Christmas leftovers and told bawdy jokes. Was delightful. Eventually I began playing piano again, and Carson and Mrs. Hughes danced! Was very sweet. (Sometimes I wonder if they're secret sweethearts.)

Slowly, as the night dragged on, the servants' hall began to empty, and before I knew it, it was just Thomas and I. Almost decided to go to bed—I didn't know if I wanted to talk to his dirty, Ivy-kissing mouth—but the wine was pleasantly humming in my fingertips and I felt a stuffed, sedated peace after the fun of the day. So I stayed where I was, staring at him from across the table.

"You look exhausted," he commented, amused.

"Hmm, you just want me to say something rude. I won't! I'm a new person!" The exhaustedly slurred words marred the passion I felt.

He smirked in response.

"Did you have a good Christmas?" I begrudgingly asked, hoping he would ask in return. Because I had my answer ready.

"I did. And you?"

"I did. I think Ivy did, too. Seeing as how you attacked her with your mouth in front of everybody just because a weed was hanging from the ceiling," I said haughtily, turning my face away.

"Ah, that. It was a bit…uncomfortable."

I still refused to look at him. "Well. You certainly didn't look uncomfortable." Well, he sort of did.

He shrugged. "I'm a good actor," he smiled.

"Do you act with me?" I asked before I realized. Now I definitely couldn't look at him.

He paused, then quietly responded, "What do you think?"

At this I allowed a brief glance in his direction. His features were earnest underneath the veil of poise.

I sighed. "I don't care, of course," I assured him. Because I really don't. Not for the reasons he might think.

"Good. Then let's be done with it. Now, come on. Let's chat about better times and steal the rest of the that plum pudding—I saw where Mrs. Patmore hid it," he winked, getting up.

Couldn't resist the inevitable smile as I stood up and joined him.

We spent the rest of the night stuffing our faces (I hope I don't gain weight!), drinking tea, wine, AND cocoa, and talking and laughing about everything. Told wonderful Christmas stories and shared memories and, at one point, I even smoked a cigarette! Did not like it much, though. Don't understand how he sucks on those things all day, every day.

Am very tired now, Diary. Very tired, but very content.

A wonderful Christmas, it was.

8:21 pm

Ahhhhhh. Feels so good to lie down. Have had a very busy day. And am very tired.

Upstairs gave us our presents today. I got a mirror! Am so very pleased with it, cannot stop staring at it. Makes my eyes look bluer and full of mystery and positivity. Alfred was very jealous, as he just got socks. (hah!)

Afterwards, I made a point of finding Thomas to see what he'd gotten. Knew whatever it was, it couldn't be better than mine.

Wrong.

I almost died when I saw it.

"A comb set?" I fawned, picking up one of the beautiful and delicately guilt combs.

He grinned, clearly pleased. "I suppose there are perks to being an under-butler," he said silkily, puffing his chest slightly.

Rolled my eyes. "Yeah, yeah. You know, I have an idea. You can give me this as a present. Since you didn't get me anything for Christmas."

"You didn't get me anything, either. Besides, I got you that pen, didn't I? A very thoughtful gesture, if I do say so myself."

Couldn't help but nod, and, without thinking, I immediately took it out of my pocket. "It _is_ quite lovely," I smiled, inspecting it.

He stared at me, a funny look on his face. Surprise? "You have it with you?"

Oops. I never meant to tell him that I carried it with me all the time. "Er, well. It—well. Er. Yes," I finally admitted, cheeks reddening.

An indecipherable emotion flicked across his face before composed himself and mumbled a very emotionless, "How kind. Well, I best get back to work."

Do not understand that man.

Dec 28

8:22 am

Stella has begun to follow Thomas around (alongside Ivy) and it is driving me insane. Mentioned it last night to him, but he said I were exaggerating.

Am most certainly not. The little harlot (I can say this because it's the end of December and this 'positive attitude' rubbish is giving me gray hair) just followed him into Carson's OFFICE.

ALONE.

Would have followed and set fire to her, but there were too many people about.

Do not trust her though, Diary. Alfred needs to get back with her immediately.

11:30 am

"Stella? But she dun't like me anymore," Alfred said, his soulless eyes confused.

"Well, Ivy doesn't like you either. At least you've been with Stella. We know she can stand you."

He pondered this, oblivious to the insult. "Perhaps you're right."

Smiled triumphantly. "Of course I am."

Now let's just hope she can learn to prefer Alfred over Thomas.

Don't know how she could, though. Nobody on earth could prefer Alfred to my Thomas.

11:31 am

Not 'my' Thomas. I don't know why I said that. He's not mine. He's just a mate. Barely a mate. Is more of an acquaintance, really.

Is not mine.

Dec 30

3:33 pm

Mrs. Patmore just said that she was pleased with me! Said:

"You've not been in me way for awhile now, bothering me girls. You must have some distraction. To which I say: keep gettin' distracted!"

Smiled and said, "Thank you, Mrs. Patmore. I will."

Do not know what she could possibly be referring to, but am delighted all the same.

11:40 pm

Thomas and I have been taking a lot of night walks. He says he's only doing it because he needs the exercise, but I suspect he secretly loves the way the moon looks down upon the snow, making it glisten.

Tonight he reminded me that tomorrow is New Years Eve. Did not realize it was almost the end of the year! Have been very busy spending the last of my energy on being kind to everybody (except Stella and Alfred. Ivy's kept quiet so she hasn't been bothering me as much. Suspect she's worried about Stella stealing Thomas from her. As if.)

"Do we have a New Years party?" I asked excitedly.

"We have a toast at midnight, or around midnight, and go to bed soon after," he said heedfully, amusement in the arch of his brow.

Am not very excited, Diary. Christmas was so lovely, and now it's over, and there's not even a New Years party to lift my spirits?

Sometimes the world is a difficult place. (Suppose I should stop staying things like that. Thomas scolds me when I do. Says that I don't appreciate all the things I have, and that he knows firsthand how easily they can flee, so it's always best not to take things for granted. He is very wise. Is a cocky sod, a liar, and a sneak-but also very wise.)

I hope 1921 is a good year. I hope it has all the good parts of this year, with extra good parts.

But no bad parts.

Dec 31

10:10 am

Frustration!

Have extreme frustration!

Alfred is still fussing about Ivy! He talked about the weather for seven minutes while she were trying to make a pie, and all the while, I could see Stella in the other room, cornering Thomas! Had to resist every urge to save him. Did not want to make a scene.

But that boy really needs to get his act together.

1:48 pm

Feel very smug, and have done a very anti-phoenix thing.

Was feeling very annoyed with Alfred. All during lunch, he spoke of New Years, and how important it were to kiss someone at midnight. Could've clogged him on the head, because I could just SEE he was giving Stella ideas about Thomas, while he were obliviously staring after Ivy.

UGH! Stella's so thick she probably would have completely forgotten about that nonsensical tradition, but NOW, she's probably forming intricate plans to get Thomas alone so she can kiss him and coerce him into being her beau. And all the while, Alfred's just letting it happen! Just because he can't seem to get over Ivy. (Do not understand the appeal. She has a big face and her eyes hold stupidity.)

So, in my anger, I may have stolen a bit of fish juice—thanks to Daisy ("I still don't understand why you need it, but hurry on before Mrs. Patmore sees! She'll have me head!").

And I may have snuck upstairs. And poured said juice in Alfred's slippers. Oops.

He probably won't notice, though. His feet are already grotesque enough.

10:36 pm

Have been keeping a close eye on Stella and Ivy as it draws nearer to midnight. Luckily nothing has happened, thanks to Thomas chattering away with Molesley and O'Brien (I wonder if they're becoming friends again?).

Am on the watch, Diary. And the closer it is to midnight, the more alert I shall be. Nobody's going to kiss Thomas. Is just…is just an absolutely atrocious idea!

Can't imagine why anybody would ever want to kiss him. He's much too cold. Would be like kissing an ice sculpture.

11:21 pm

Carson just poured the wine. Suspect we will be having our toast soon, since Mrs. Hughes doesn't look like she's going to last much longer.

And Molesley has already nodded off.

(Thomas is now with Anna and Bates. Stella is with the maids, and Ivy's in the kitchen. So far, so good.)

11:34 pm

Have just toasted the New Year. Everybody clinked glasses and smiled, and I made sure to give Carson the biggest one I had. I think he noticed—he nodded in my direction. Or he may have sneezed.

(Thomas is still with Anna and Bates. Stella is still with the maids, but has positioned herself suspiciously closer to Thomas. Ivy is now being cornered by Alfred. Still in the clear…)

11:40 pm

I turned my head for one minute.

One minute.

One minute, I wasn't watching those silly girls (I wanted to make sure my hair looked nice for the New Year) and what do I see when I return my attentions?

Stella. And Ivy. And Thomas. All together. Both girls on either side, both girls with their arms through his. While Carson and Mrs. Hughes watched with amusement, and Bates and Anna laughed along with them.

Am flabbergasted. And nauseous. And outraged . And nauseous.

The only good part is that Alfred is currently very depressed, and is sitting by himself. That's what he gets. Oh, and now O'Brien is going over to him. Good. Let them be alone, together.

But this is just a disaster. Is almost the New Year, Diary! What do I do?

11:43 pm

I've hidden.

Am in the pantry. Don't need them. Don't need all those phonies. Don't need Thomas, who has everybody hanging on his every word, girls in tow, and is just oh-so funny. Don't need him, and I'm going to start this new year how I should:

ALONE.

11:47 pm

Still cannot believe the cheek on him.

11:48 pm

Stella is tragically homely. Do not know why everybody finds her pretty.

I wonder if Thomas thinks she's pretty?

11:49 pm

I think I'm going to sit in the pantry more often. Is very cozy in here.

11:51 pm

Wish Daisy was with me. Would go and fetch her (last saw her with Mrs. Patmore, having tea in the corner) but do not want to be seen.

No, I must brave the storm alone. Where nobody can find me.

11:52 pm

Someone is knocking on the pantry door.

…

Should I let them in?

11:53 pm

It's Thomas. Have let him in, but am going to continue writing in my diary.

He does not deserve my attentions right now.

11:54 pm

He's just said, "I'm not sure why you're ignoring me. But it's almost midnight. Come on out, Jimmy. Let's celebrate with everybody."

Hah!

Never.

11:55 pm

Thomas Barrow is a very stubborn man.

Now he's sitting with me. Am still refusing to speak to him.

11:57 pm

Is a little awkward, sitting here in silence.

Especially when he looks so nice. His hair's falling out of place, just a little bit, a few strands catching in his eyes. He has such pretty eyes. They're staring at his hands. He has such lovely hands. Almost as lovely as his lips, which are a very deep red. Such a contrast from his milky skin, like blood against snow.

I suppose, maybe, I can understand why Stella and Ivy want him as their midnight kiss. I suppose.

They'll never find him in here. Hah!

11:58 pm

Such pretty lips.

11:59 pm

He's looking at me now.

"It's almost midnight," he's just said.

Can hear everybody counting down. ("SEVEN! SIX!")

My heart feels funny.

He's still staring at me.

("FIVE! FOUR!")

And looks so lovely.

With such nice lips.

Am I leaning forward?

("THREE!")

He's still looking at me, hasn't moved.

("TWO!")

What am I doing?

Oh, God.


	5. January

The Diary of Jimmy Kent

January

Jan 1

12:33 am

Am going to hide in my room and stay in my room and never come out of my room ever again—never—and will even risk starving to death in my room or dehydrating in my room or wilting to death from lack of sunlight in my room rather than face the outside world which is cruel, uncalled for, terrifying, and very much not on my side.

Would also rather be set on fire than face Thomas.

Because I may have accidentally kissed him.

Just now.

1:51 am

Am throwing all previous positivity out the window, Diary. Positivity is the Devil's work. Has obviously done me no good. And has ruined everything and made 1921 the worst possible year in existence. There is absolutely no way this year will be a success now when—in the first five seconds of it—I've already managed to destroy it singlehandedly.

The Phoenix is dead. I've beaten it to death with its own self-righteousness.

Instead, I am just Jimmy again. Except with some misery thrown into the mix. And horror. And shame. And despair. Utter despair. Have wrapped myself in blankets and even made a _cocoon_ of despair.

Unfortunately, no cocoon can blockade the fresh memory of what I've just done.

Oh, it was just too awful.

It was us, in the pantry—Thomas and I. Could hear everybody in the servants' hall chanting down to midnight. Could practically hear the wine sloshing out of their merry, dancing glasses. But all the while….all I could see was Thomas.

He was there, right beside me, Diary, and we were all alone, so alone. It was dark enough to forget myself, and bright enough—with slivers of light that burst through the cracks of the door, slicing through his powdery blue eyes and glinting crimson lips—to be sucked in by a total lack of control due to a severe amount of wine that I must have ingested. And the fact that Thomas has uncommonly pretty lips.

So. Well. I kissed him. I leaned in, squishing my diary between our bodies, and I kissed him.

I saw the confusion in his eyes, the damn near shock, but I couldn't help it! With the shouting and the alcohol and the merriment of the month and the pressure of the new year (what if the world ended? You just never know!) I found myself falling gently onto him, kissing him in the sweetest way I knew how for the smallest increment of time.

And just as suddenly, as soon as I found myself tasting the sweet perfection of his sullied and dangerous lips, as my hand began to climb its way up to the icy pallid angles of his face, I heard the house erupt into roars of triumph at having ushered in yet another year.

And it all shattered.

I realized just what I was doing. I snapped my eyes open, reaffirming the reality that I was KISSING THOMAS BARROW ON THE MOUTH. Who—bythefuckingway—is a MAN. Which is just utterly distasteful and awful and atrocious and repulsive to such a man as me!

Could not help it, Diary. I panicked. I panicked like I've never panicked before, and I broke apart from Thomas as abruptly and viciously as I could, and I ran away. I really did. I actually ran. Legs kicked out and everything. Was in such a hurry to escape, that ended up ducking into Carson's office and hiding under his desk for the best part of an hour. Only escaped when I heard the voices dwindle and saw the lights flick off.

And now I'm hiding in my room and I'm horrified because I could never have feelings such as those for a MAN—not ever, nope—and I don't like Thomas in that way because he is my best mate and best mate only. But now he'll get the wrong idea and he will stalk me again and want to be with me and….

This could be the end of us.

What have I done?

6:05 am

Couldn't sleep a wink last night. Do not understand how others do it, escaping from their own realities. Instead stared at the shadows on my wall as they twisted under changing light. At one point, could have sworn I saw 'THOMAS' spelt in shadow. Could only close my eyes and pretend I've never heard the name, never heard the voice, never seen the face.

Is an easy task, since I do not think of him like that. It's easier when you cannot feel.

No matter. I must begin to get ready for the day. Though readier, I could not be. Have decided to keep my gaze glued to the floor and the floor ALONE once I reach downstairs, in case I come in contact with Thomas' eyes. I now understand their powers, and do not wish to fall victim to them once more.

Am torn, though. Do not know if I should continue to carry about the pen he gave me. Do not wish to imply anything by it.

But cannot bring myself to leave it behind, not when it fits perfectly in my hand and tugs on my pocket in such a familiar way.

Perhaps I will bring it…but I will not let him see it ever again. For I will never, ever speak to Thomas again. Is horrible to say. But it must be done.

For how could I possibly face him?

7:27 am

Ran into Alfred after I'd left my room, and was feeling so desolate, I actually walked with him downstairs.

"Oi, there!" he called as I was closing my door and praying for spontaneous invisibility. "Where'd you get off to last night?"

Oh, God. Suppressing all urges to throw a panicked fit, I coughed out a, "Whatever do you mean?"

"You missed it, see—I kissed Stella!" he continued seamlessly. I forgot—I don't have to speak around Alfred.

I paused, staring at his gargoyle-bred face. Would normally want to throw rocks at his head for being such a self-involved little fool, but found myself distracted. He kissed Stella? Stalking-Thomas-till-he's-blue-in-the-face-because-she's-an-unrelenting-whore Stella?

"You did?" I inquired, feeling a strange blossom of hope (why hope?) in the depths of my barren and desolate chest cavity.

"Aye. I think she may be my girl again," he grinned.

"She doesn't fancy Thomas anymore, then?" I asked immediately without thinking.

Shit.

His grin melted away. "You mean, Mr. Barrow?" he asked, but there was no humor in his voice.

I stared. Really? He was concerned because I called him 'Thomas,' but not over the fact that I'd just revealed to him that it was THOMAS that she fancied, when he'd been in the dark all along?

Not looking a gift horse in the mouth, I quickly responded with, "Whatever his name is," and hurried down the remaining steps, into breakfast.

Am convinced that he was born without a brain.

9:26 am

Thomas is nowhere to be seen. Which is good, since I have nothing to say and I do not want him to think that accidental kiss meant anything.

Still. Where is he?

9:50 am

Alfred just realized his mistake earlier.

"Stella fancies Mr. Barrow?!" he hissed while we were alone.

Dangerously close to biting him, I kept my eyes firmly glued to my hands as I carefully slipped on my gloves. "Finally figured that one out, did you?" I grumbled.

"I've had it this time! First Ivy now Stella?! It's not bloody fair and I'm not just going to sit around—"

"I will cut you," I interjected forcibly, unable to stop myself.

I blinked.

Where did that come from?

Judging from Alfred's near-to-terrified face, he didn't know either.

Not in the mood to entertain any shreds of remaining kindness within me, I glared up at him. "I will. With Mrs. Patmore's best knife—you know, the one she shaves pig skin with? I will take that bleedin' knife and skin YOU with it if you even whisper Barrow's name to Stella." I knew that, with the added benefit of dark circled eyes from a sleepless night, I looked the part of clinically insane. And I didn't care one bit.

Alfred nodded. "I won't say a word," he promised, eyes wide.

"Good," I growled, and left for the kitchen.

My spirit animal is now a wolf, Diary: alone, fierce, and nocturnal.

11:31 am

My luck is a festering pool of decay. (Speaking of, I think I just vomited every single thing I've ever eaten in my life. And then some.)

Just saw him.

I saw him, Diary. He was downstairs. He hadn't been at breakfast so I thought I was going to be okay. But of course not, because that would mean I would have a chance of surviving this emotionally catastrophic day.

Daisy and Ivy were clearing up. The dishes clinked in the smoky, coffee and tea tinged morning light of the servants' hall. Felt every fiber in my body scream to stay in that room. Even considered hiding under the table at one point. But knew that my job, being a very prestigious first footman, required my services and ONLY mine—Alfred was not to have the pleasure of being me for a day longer than he deserved—and so I eventually forced myself up and away.

Was in the hall. Walking. Aimlessly almost, as breakfast upstairs wasn't quite ready yet. I should have kept my eyes on the ground. But I didn't. I looked up.

And there he was.

That smooth, bastardly face looking back at me.

I froze instantly, feeling my jaw slacken.

I saw as well that, hiding in the tiniest cracks of his stony visage, he felt a similar sense of distress and shock.

We stared at each other.

Tried my best to implant the phrase "I am a wolf" in my brain, but instead kept chanting, "I kissed you last night because my head's not right."

Tore my eyes away immediately, averting them to the floor. "I best get on," I mumbled, and I bustled past him before he could say one word. And then had to bustle to the bathroom because my body cannot handle my feelings.

I don't know what I expected. But I didn't plan on gaping at him, dismissing myself callously, and then vomiting.

But, I guess….at least I didn't retch on his shoes.

3:21 pm

I've been thinking. I didn't technically kiss him. In actuality, I felt a physical unbalance (presumably, due to the wine) and thus I tipped over, and happened to catch his lips. It was a direct reaction to alcohol. A friendly reaction. Because, rather than feeling anything remotely romantic or passionate, it was a manly gesture of friendship. Folk don't get in a fuss about shaking hands—it's a very butch thing to do—so why is what I did any different? Our handshake consisted of mouths, not hands, but it was essentially the same thing. A mouthshake. Nothing wrong in it.

Am only sorry that I may have given Thomas the wrong impression.

7:44 pm

Carson let me have the evening off since I was having a bit of a time all afternoon. Every time I saw Thomas I wound up puking. Do not understand. Am very embarrassed about last night, yes, but am not sure why my body felt the need to purge itself whenever I saw his face. I know it wasn't nerves, because of course I do not fancy Thomas. Is a man. I do not fancy men.

Still, was very kind of Carson. Mrs. Hughes had found me hiding in the larder, clutching my stomach and not crying. So Carson, arms stiff at his sides, said, "Well, then. You best stay in bed for the remainder of the day. However, tomorrow I expect you back in full form. We've only the first half of the month to fulfill our duties here until the family leaves for London. After which, of course, we will remain in full swing…but, perhaps, will have some time to breathe."

I think he was trying to be kindly.

Thanked him and have been in my cocoon of despair since.

How could I have done that last night?

10:29 pm

Must continue to stay away from Thomas. Is for the best, but is difficult. Only because I miss having a mate. But I understand that he is probably now in love with me once more. And I cannot tempt him with my presence. Must stay away from him. I must.

10:33 pm

He's outside right now. Smoking. Without me. For the first time in almost a month.

But it's for the best.

10:35 pm

No, I must NOT go and see him. I know nothing good will come of it.

The world may very well crash around us if I go to him. Cannot risk the world, not even for Thomas.

Jan 2

6:11 am

Succeeded in avoiding Thomas last night.

Feel anything but successful.

3:12 pm

Today has been so dark and gloomy.

"The servant's ball is coming up, Jimmy. Weren't you excited about it?" Anna asked politely after she'd been eying me as I sat motionless in my chair, lunch untouched.

In a daze, I managed to pull my eyes away from my lap. "Oh? Oh, yes. Yes, of course," I smiled politely, wanting to retch.

"You alright?" she asked kindly, tilting her head in hopes to get a better view of my twisted expression, now tucked against my chest.

I hid from her imploring words. "Yes, very well, thank you."

And then Bates. "Alfred's been telling me you've been treating him rather rudely. What happened to kindness? The kindness you displayed all last month?" I instantly seethed at his words. I'm sure, to him, he was doing his good deed for the day by trying to make me look like a rude fool.

The only fool was he.

That coot.

"Is this about me threatening to shave his skin off?" I asked without thinking. Oops.

Anna and Bates stared.

"Jimmy…" Anna began, filled with genuine concern.

"What's wrong with you?" Bates demanded imploringly, eyes firm. I could honestly smack that man in the face.

"I'd appreciate it if you left myself to myself," I said touchily, lifting my head with confidence.

Saw his hardened expression out of the corner of my eye, but he left it at that. I'm sure he said some choice words in his head, however.

Anna remained silent, clearly apprehensive of the whole situation.

Love Anna. Hate her husband.

10:47 pm

May have just went outside. To the smoking spot.

He wasn't there.

10:49 pm

I'm so glad he wasn't there. Feel well lucky! Cannot see him. There's nothing to say.

Distance is the only solution. Distance until we've both forgotten about the other. And then we can rebuild.

Jan 3

7:37 am

It's not a matter of rebuilding. It's a matter of surviving. He just passed me in the corridor and his shoulder brushed against mine. Could almost feel his prickled skin as he said absolutely nothing and pretended I was a mere dust particle.

Is life over?

9:11 am

I think Thomas is officially avoiding me. That insolent slag is actually avoiding ME. I'M the one who needs to do the avoiding!

Why on earth is he hiding from _me_?!

I know he is, because he wasn't at breakfast AGAIN, and just now, when I saw him in Mr. Carson's office—and was honestly just going to ask where he put the new soup spoons—he took one glance at me and darted away. Like a slippery snake.

The cheek on that man. Avoiding ME!

Honestly.

11:11 am

I love Mrs. Patmore. How did we ever quarrel?

"What's wrong with you?" she asked as I was waiting for a tea tray.

Quickly de-zoning myself, I peered up at her and attempted an assuring smile. "Nothing at all, Mrs. Patmore."

She gave me a look, setting down her spatula. "Oh, come now. I wasn't born yesterday. What is it, then?"

Daisy and Ivy looked at me.

"You have been acting awful quiet like," Daisy agreed, coaxing a warm loaf of bread from the pan.

Oh no. My pain was obvious to the world! Felt an irritation in my eyes.

"Mr. Barrow's been acting strange, as well," Ivy said, eyeing me with concern. "Are you feeling ill, Jimmy? Perhaps something's going around."

I stared in response. Mr. Barrow's been acting strange as well? Felt a thousand emotions and sicknesses overcome my body.

"I'm most definitely ill," I heard myself say, as I steadied myself, feeling a wave of dizziness.

"Oh," Mrs. Patmore quipped, surprised and a little concerned, rushing over to me. "Easy, now. Take a seat, you have a moment." Astonishingly gently, she guided me to a chair. "Ivy, fetch us some water. Daisy, give us a slice of that bread."

Bread? I felt my eyes twinkle, despite their misery. "What for?" I chanced to ask, staring up at Mrs. Patmore.

She smiled, patting me on the cheek. "For you, you ninny. Now here," she said, taking a freshly buttered slice from Daisy and handing it to me. I could have kissed her.

"Thank you," I murmured, nibbling on the deliciously warm loaf and accepting the water from Ivy. As I finished, Mrs. Patmore told me I was a good lad and that if I always did what was right, I would stay out of trouble and never have a moment's sorrow. Nodded and thanked her, but oh.

If only it was that easy.

10:41 pm

He wasn't outside again tonight. He's definitely avoiding me.

Jan 4

4:47 pm

I'm not crying, Diary. I'm not crying because I have no tear ducts and have no ability to cry. I'm not crying because I am a man and men don't need feelings or friends or anything else other weak people need. I only need myself, Diary, and I am not crying.

Was waiting with Alfred in the kitchen for our trays (he was telling Ivy how far he could throw a chicken. He's such a Casanova.) when I spied Thomas and O'Brien in the hallway.

Upon seeing him, felt an immediate numbness, but focused my attentions on the display nevertheless. Eavesdropping as best I could, I heard him depart from her with a, "It's none of your concern. Keep out of it."

Oh god.

Did she know? Why did he say that? Why would he say that if she didn't know? Was it public knowledge that I kissed him? No, not kissed—shook mouths.

Feeling anger, panic, and something unknown stirring within me, I couldn't help myself—I bounded away from the kitchen and followed him. He wants to avoid me? Let's see about that.

Waited until we were passing Mr. Carson's empty office to grab him forcefully by the arm and pull him in with me. He stumbled, spun his head around wildly, but didn't say a word, half-letting himself be dragged inside.

As soon as I shut the door, I turned abruptly to him, having absolutely no idea as to what I was going to say.

He stared back at me, features set in their predictable fashion. Absolute ice, absolute calm. He is the living embodiment of stone.

"You're avoiding me," I began, voice already breaking. Blast.

"You're avoiding me," he countered, voice solid. Damn him.

"Well, you don't have to. Because I didn't kiss you," I blurted out. Oh, Jimmy. Shut. Up.

No reaction. His unblinking gaze continued to bore into me, his lips making no move to speak.

Ok, Jimmy. Let's try again.

"You see, I thought perhaps…you would want to talk with me," I continued uncomfortably, desperate for a sense of normalcy. "As you usually do. You know, about Alfred, that bloody Stella, Ivy… How they're all being bloody unbearable as usual." What was I saying? What were these words? These aren't important enough. They're the first ones I've said to him in days, and these aren't important enough right now.

His face remained unchanged. "I suppose I've nothing to say."

Felt my own cracking. "Surely, you can think of something," I almost pleaded.

Something indefinable flashed in his eyes. It was too brief to realize, fleeting enough to prompt me into believing I'd never seen it at all. And then there was hardness, more severe than before. "We can't hang about anymore."

An anvil dropped on my head.

 _What?_ Why was _he_ saying that?

"What? I don't—How do you mean? I thought you said we could be friends," I stammered, refusing to submit to the throbbing in my throat.

"It's not just friends, is it?"

Another anvil. "I don't know what you're talking about."

He stared at me. Slowly, the mask began to slip. The corners of his eyes pinched in discomfort. His mouth began to slacken into a frown. "What you just said? That's why we can't be friends."

What did he mean? That didn't make any sense. What he was trying to say to me? "But we can! We're mates, we can continue to just be mates," I insisted, stepping closer. Please, Thomas. Stop being stubborn and cold and distant. Please, please, please.

"Our history has clouded this friendship from the beginning. To pursue it…especially in light of some recent actions, would be foolish. We're playing with fire, Jimmy. Or at least, I am. Friends we may be, but it's the look of the thing that matters, not the thing itself." So calm. He was always so well-spoken and so calm.

"But nobody knows!" I cried, taking another step closer. This certainly wasn't how I envisioned myself in this situation—I was supposed to be the cold one, rejecting his pleas.

"Not _yet_. It's only a matter of time—O'Brien's been sniffing around." _Fuck O'Brien._ He averted his gaze. "We're done here, James. I think you will agree that it's best." His eyes, faded and absent, were planted on the ground, right alongside my stomach, my heart, and my internal organs.

Refused to acknowledge the moisture that slid down my cheek. Blinking through it, I managed a faltering, "But I just wanted a mate."

He glanced up, face cloaked in ice. "Well that's the thing. I never did." Turned my face away from his sightless eyes before he could detect any indication of distress in mine. "Good day, James."

He stood there, and waited until I left.

Am now in my room, trying to understand how last month I had felt so happy at this time, and life seemed so full of promise.

And am not crying.

I suppose the tables have turned. He was sorry he kissed me all those months ago.

Now I'm sorry that I kissed him.

9:57 pm

Hate Thomas. If he's outside smoking right now, I hope an ember from his nasty ash stick lands on his ugly jacket, sets him entirely aflame, and burns him to a crisp.

Have not seen him since our chat. Thankfully, because I may have come at him with a fork.

Enough Thomas though, Diary. Time to focus on me. The lone wolf.

Jan 5

1:12 pm

Have not been in contact with Barrow at all today. Which is jolly good. Do not need to be friends with his sort.

No, I think it's best if I put all my energy into finding myself a proper gal.

…

Perhaps tomorrow.

5:15 pm

New project for energy: shipping Alfred to a remote island.

Have absolutely had it with him, and have been forced to make a bold statement.

We were in the servants' hall at tea, and he was banging on about Stella again. (Thought he was back to fancying Ivy, but I really can't keep up.)

"She's the one, Jimmy. I'll fight through fire to win her heart."

"That doesn't even make sense," I said snottily.

"But how? She fancies Barrow. It's filthy," he growled, the light in his eyes dimming. Here we go again.

"Oh?"

"I know you don't want me to. But I've made up me mind. I'm telling her. Tonight. If it's the only way she can move on, then I'm telling her. There's nothing you can say that will stop me," he said boldly, chin raised.

Felt my blood thicken. Shit. And fuck. Now what? Thomas may have no heart and is no longer my best mate, but I will not let his life almost be ruined again by something so ridiculous.

"Alfred…" I warned, not quite sure where to go from there.

"I've made up me mind," he pressed, glaring at me.

Think, Jimmy. Think fast. Think of something, and think of something brilliant. "Well, see. You can't. Because…because it's not Thomas she fancies."

He stared at me. "You what?"

I nodded gravely. "It's true. I lied to you. Because…the truth is more difficult for you to hear."

At this, his eyebrows creased, but he remained silent.

Severely uncomfortable, I plowed on. "It's me. Stella fancies me. She told me. And we've…been…seeing…each other." I don't know how I managed to say something so uncomfortable.

He looked at me with incredulity. "What?!"

"I know," I assured him, raising my hands up in defeat, "It's wrong. But, there it is. Stella's my girl. Perhaps you can have her if you behave yourself. And promise to never, ever tell ANYBODY about Mr. Barrow."

"Of course! Anything!"

"Well, then. I'll see what I can do. But for now, I best get back to work."

Oh, Diary. Why did I do that? Suppose I could have thrown Thomas to the dogs.

Well, no.

No I could not.

10:55 pm

Once again, Thomas' smoking spot is empty.

I suppose this really is the end of him and I.

10:56 pm

Good.

Jan 6

6:44 am

Servant's Ball is tonight. Have selected my outfit, shined my new shoes (they look stunning and I don't mind saying it) and even did a skin treatment. Am not sure why, though.

There's nobody to look fetching for.

11:01

Have I ever mentioned I hate Ivy? And Stella?

Was in the kitchen while they were gushing to everybody about Thomas.

"He has to dance the first dance with the Dowager, of course, but he said that after that, I get the first dance!" Ivy beamed through soap suds.

"I wonder if Mr. Barrow will dance with me?" Daisy asked innocently, a small smile on her lips. Oh great, now her too? Love Daisy, but can easily hate her. Wolves turn on people like that.

Ivy's eyes flashed to her. "I'm sure he won't have time."

Daisy's face fell.

"Well," suddenly came Stella's voice as she waltzed in the kitchen, maids in tow, "I know that I've already made Mr. Barrow promise to dance with me _twice_."

Alfred's face fell. "I thought you were dancing with me?"

She briefly glanced in his direction. "Oh, yeah, sure. Perhaps between my dances with Mr. Barrow," she said deviously, eyes fixed on Ivy.

Ivy flushed. "It's not the quantity that matters, it's the quality. That's what me mum says. So you best stay away from him."

"Does she? Does your mum also say barking _dogs_ seldom bite?"

The maids sniggered, and Ivy flushed brighter.

"I'm not a dog!"

"ALRIGHT. That's ENOUGH!"

Everybody turned and stared at me.

Felt a little surprised myself at the sudden outburst, but plowed on. "Enough chatting in here—you've all got work to do. MOVE ALONG," I thundered, feeling wrathfully ill-tempered.

Eying me with surprise, the slutty maids scattered, Stella throwing me a wink as she exited. Tart.

Was just feeling satisfied—despite Alfred's judgment ("Don't speak to my girl that way!") pfft—when I heard a very stern:

"JIMMY."

Of course.

I spun around: Mrs. Patmore.

"I'm sorry, Mrs. P—" I began, but she held up her hand.

"No need to apologize! No, not at all!" she said, clearly impressed. "You handled yourself very well just now. Very nice—I'll be mentioning this to Mr. Carson, you can be sure of it!"

Couldn't help but grin. Nobody's ever said that in a _good_ way before!

But oh, Diary. Tonight will be awful. I know it.

7:30 pm

Tonight's awful. I was right.

Thomas won't look or talk to me. He's just flitting about, chatting easily with everybody from the Dowager, to Stella, to the stairwell. His smiles are relaxed, his dancing is effortless, and he smells incredibly good.

Not that I've sniffed him.

7:48 pm

Am trying to avoid any dancing. Do not care that my hair looks splendid, or that my shoes glisten when caught in the light, or that my suit is perfectly tailored to my young and fit body. Do not care, because nobody important can appreciate my aesthetics.

The only person who has seemed to notice is Lady Edith. Who keeps asking me to dance. Luckily, she's with Thomas right now. Ivy keeps shooting them glances, but she seems quite occupied with her dance partner—one hallboy or another. Stella's with Alfred, but is also keeping an eye on Thomas.

Are all eyes fixed on that man? Honestly…

8:01 pm

Just danced with Mrs. Patmore. I think she's a little drunk.

"It's hard to cook! None of you lot understand, but it's hard and it's a demanding job! My hours are worse than everybody's, you know! You lot don't know! And I says just the other day to Mrs. Hughes, I says that 'It's very hard to be the cook, Mrs. Hughes. But I'm trying my best!' And the best is all I have to offer! Isn't that right, Jimmy?"

"Er, yes, Mrs. Patmore. I'm sure Mr. Carson is very pleased with your hard work."

"Oh, yes. You know." She leaned in closer. "I've always thought he was quite fit." Her bleary red eye winked at me. Oh god.

Thankfully, religiously, the song ended at that exact moment. "Oh! Well, would you look at that! I best be off now. Why don't you ask Mr. Barrow for the next dance?" I smiled warmly, watching Stella begin to make her way to him out of my peripherals.

"Oh yes!" she smiled, already waddling away. Love Mrs. Patmore. Am not sure if I love drunk Mrs. Patmore.

8:29 pm

Am hiding in the corner so I won't have to dance anymore. No, I'm not spying on Thomas as he dances. I'm not keeping track of his dance partners. (But that knob has danced with Ivy twice and Stella _three times_. I admit, it's not necessarily by choice, but he's allowed it nonetheless!) He's currently with Mrs. Hughes. They seem to be having a nice time, laughing and smiling. Hmph.

Oh, God. Lady Edith just spotted me.

Am hiding.

9:46 pm

Am in the servants' hall. Just spoke with Daisy who came down to check on me.

"Are you alright, Jimmy?"

Pulled my head from my hands. "Sure."

She looked at me, wearily. "I don't think you are." No way. "I think your heart's sad."

At this, I peered up at her. "What do you mean?"

She placed a gentle hand on my back. "Do you fancy someone, then?"

Bolted upward. "No!" I said hotly.

"Well, you must be in love!" she said fearfully, withdrawing her hand as she stared at me with big, scared eyes.

"You must be drunk! Now, leave me be!"

Feelings obviously hurt, she left.

Poor Daisy. I may be in a foul temper, but she didn't deserve to be on the receiving end of it. My inner wolf is out of control.

9:50 pm

Have just written "I'm sorry Daisy :(" on a piece of paper. Will leave it in the kitchen for her.

11:11 pm

Am still in the servants' hall. Staring at the table. Can hear the thumps of jolly, dancing folk upstairs. Sometimes their laughter drifts down here—even heard Carson's laugh at one point. He seemed to be in a swell temper; he was dancing with Lady Mary when I left, beaming from ear to ear.

Suppose I shall sleep down here. Do not have the energy nor the care to go to my cold, lonely room.

I wonder if Thomas is still awake. Probably dancing with Stella again. I hope Ivy's not too put out by it. Hate her, but feel sympathy all the same. She seemed in an alright state when I left though—she was dancing with that hallboy again.

Oh, Diary. Do not want to see Thomas because it's difficult and everything's wrong now. Understand that we cannot be friends. But part of me wishes we could have spoken tonight.

Even if it was just one word.

Jan 7

12:51 am

OH GOD. OH GOD, DIARY. DIARY, I NEED HELP. I NEED HELP AND I NEED TO BE LOCKED AWAY, IN A BOX AT THE BOTTOM OF THE SEA. I AM NO LONGER IN CONTROL OF MY ACTIONS, BUT HAVE OBVIOUSLY BEEN TAKEN OVER BY SOME ALIEN FORCE OF EVIL.

It was around midnight, maybe a little after. Was still in the servants' hall, and could hear the ruckus slowly dying down upstairs as footsteps departed and voices murmured. Was in the midst of convincing myself to go to bed before Carson found me passed out on the table in the morning, when I heard dreaded footsteps behind me.

Couldn't bring myself to look up, so I picked up an old wrapper that was lying on the table and occupied myself with it.

"What you doing up?" came Thomas' voice.

My focus on the wrapper between my fingers deepened as my heart began to thump deafeningly loud. I remained silent.

"I'm just making a final check to usher anybody who hasn't already, to go to bed." Pause. "That means you."

Will not speak to him. Cannot speak to him.

The room remained silent except for the incessant beating of my troubled and disturbed heart.

"Now do you see why we can't be mates?" Thomas finally asked, amusement peppering his words as he took a seat beside me. Felt the air burn.

"I do," I finally admitted, fingers nervously shredding the wrapper. "I just thought…. Well, I thought that you'd at least _try_ to make it work. As mates."

"You thought _I_ should try?"

"Yes, you. Because of course, _I_ don't want to be your mate anymore—I don't want to give you the wrong idea. But _you_ —"

Thomas stood up abruptly, face clouded in frustration. "I'm going to bed."

Equal parts frustration, I stood up fiercely as well. "You're always running away," I accused in a hiss, taking a step toward him and glaring in the most passionate manner I could muster.

"You're the last person who should be pointing fingers right now," Thomas warned, one eyebrow perfectly arched.

Felt my blood boil. If there's one thing I absolutely hate about that man, it's how he can remain perfectly calm in an emotional situation. While I spin around like a top.

"Don't accuse me. You know that I'm not that sort. We're mates, us, and if that's too hard for you to grasp—"

"You bloody oaf. I don't want you. Not anymore. I wanted a mate, but you've gone and made even _that_ too difficult. I already told you, we can't hang about anymore—it's too risky, and I'm absolutely done," he growled, stepping closer to me and staring down into my eyes with what could only be described as hatred. (Was this the evil Thomas I'm always hearing about?)

Proving my power, I stepped even closer, my chest bumping his. "Well then, if you don't fancy me, and I don't fancy you, then there's no problem, is there?" I spat through clenched teeth.

"Correct. I don't want you."

"I don't want you either," I breathed in return, snarling almost as much as him.

And then, under the dim lights and amidst the mutual distaste….

I grabbed his face between my hands and smashed my lips into his. Fully expecting to be pushed violently away, I kissed him as incessantly as I could—unexplainably—and meant to convey, in each stolen breath, in every press of my fingers into his flesh, in the very swell of my lips against his, the pure misery that had become our relationship.

But, to my utter amazement, he didn't push me away. His own hands encircled me, pressing into my back, my arm, the side of my face….

It was almost beautiful, really. Just…

NO. Never mind.

In any case, after an expanse of time I could never be bothered to guess, we pulled apart, and his glaring eyes reflected the exact frustration I meant for him to feel, poured from my mouth to his. We stood there, staring at each other with matching snarls, hands still wrapped tightly around the other.

And then suddenly…he was gone.

And now I'm here, ready to puke, or cry, or both, with only my tingling lips and scorched hands to keep me company.

Do not understand, Diary. Understand nothing about this situation. Apparently I possess a disease where my mouth takes complete control and latches onto any host it can find. Or, at least, one host in particular.

Am ruined. We're ruined. Life is ruined.

8:31 pm

Have hid from Thomas all day today. Or, perhaps, he hid from me.

Is for the best.

Jan 8

2:31 pm

Daisy is kind. But she's dumb.

"So you've figured out who you fancy yet?" she asked, rolling out vats of dough.

Blushed slightly. No, because I don't fancy anybody you rude and overly-curious cow. "I don't understand the question," I sniffed.

"I know who he fancies," Alfred grumbled, shooting me a glare. Panicked. What? "Stella. He's been hanging about her." Oh. That.

"Stella?" Ivy suddenly asked, arms filled with vegetables. She stared between us, seemingly frozen. "I thought…she was with Mr. Barrow?"

Feel slightly bad for Ivy, Diary. See, at the Servant's Ball, Stella stalked Thomas. She now follows him everywhere, they're seen as the new "item," and it's really quite sick; of course, Ivy is desolate.

However, it's partly her own making. You see, Diary, while Stella captured Thomas' [unwilling] attentions, Ivy's own were captured by some hallboy. Turns out, he's fancied her all along, and now she's a bit caught up with him. She explained it as: "I'm no fool. I know you all were right—Mr. Barrow will never marry me. I'm not even sure if he truly likes me. I want a family, I want a future. Benjamin can give me that." (did not know hallboys had real names) Understand Ivy's pain. Is hard to be the victim.

"Well, yes," I suddenly said. "She…hangs about Barrow. And me. As well."

Failing to hide her pain, Ivy went back to her business.

"Bloody unfair…" Alfred grumbled.

Almost agreed with him before I remembered I can never agree with Alfred.

Still. Why must everything be so difficult?

Jan 9

9:12 pm

Have been keeping to myself as of late. Everybody seems to be in nice enough spirits. Ivy seems to be happy with hallboy, Alfred's depressed, Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes are excited about the prospect of the family going to London soon, and Thomas is….well. Seemingly at ease. And avoiding my eye contact.

Is unbearable, Diary.

I know I said I do not want to be in his life if it creates so many complications. But is it truly better to live without him? Just because of two accidental kisses that neither of us care about? Kisses don't count. They are just a physical response to a change in weather, or a bad day. And since the weather has been ghastly (has been sleeting, not snowing) and I've been buried in awful days, it's really only expected.

I wish we could just talk. Miss talking. Cannot talk to Daisy because she gets so confused, cannot talk to Ivy because…well….it's Ivy, and Alfred repulses me so of COURSE I cannot go within ten steps of him.

The only good thing about this tragedy is that Mrs. Patmore has been very kind.

"You went from smiling all day, every day, to being almost in tears every time I look at you! What's the matter?"

"The world," I said woefully, playing with the corner of my jacket.

Heard her sigh before she swatted my hand. "Don't play with that, you'll fray it." Another sigh. "Would you like some cocoa?"

I peered up at her. She was looking at me expectantly, one hand on her hip, the other leaning on the counter. Sniffling a wee bit, I nodded.

"Alright. You've some time before you have to serve the tea, so take a seat and I'll fix you up. Go on, then."

Love Mrs. Patmore.

Jan 10

8:18 pm

I've noticed something, Diary. Whenever I'm upstairs, Lady Edith smiles at me.

It's unnerving.

Jan 11

12:25 pm

Just swell. You'll never guess who just came up to me, Diary.

O'Brien.

As I saw her making her way over to me in the servants' hall, was instantly weary.

"Jimmy," she greeted, not even coming close to smiling. Quelle surprise.

"Miss O'Brien."

"You seem a bit out of sorts lately." She spoke in a natural way, but I know better. She's not to be trusted, that crotchety old dishrag.

"I'm actually quite well. Fantastic, even," I smiled, wanting nothing more than to pull her hair.

She nodded, feigning belief. "I see. Well, I only ask because that's not what Thomas says."

Felt my stomach drop. Thomas? Still. Must keep my calm. "Oh? Well that's very odd, seeing as how Thomas and I do not speak." I began to walk on.

"That's not what he says," she pressed.

"How peculiar. Good day, Miss O'Brien." I left.

Now what the hell does this all mean? What has Thomas been telling her?

No matter. I'm sure she's playing with me brain. I will not let her manipulate me again! Still cannot believe I ever let myself fall victim to her clever ploys, that upside-down mop. Cannot trust anybody who has hair like that.

10:01 pm

Am sitting in my room. Staring at my pen. Not thinking about the fact that I've now kissed Thomas.

Twice.

Do not want to be with Thomas…not in that way. Just want a friend. Do not want to be hated by society, in danger of jail or death or ostracism. Just want a friend. Besides, could only ever think of Thomas as a mate, because too much is between us, and it would not make sense. It would ruin everything. If I lost him for good, I'd have nobody, and even if I did have somebody else, it wouldn't matter because he's everybody. He's everything. No, cannot possibly lose Thomas.

And cannot possibly continue this absolute rubbish of not speaking to each other and not seeing each other.

I'm going outside. He better be there.

10:32 pm

He wasn't there. Sat there for a couple minutes, even. Hoping just slightly. But he never showed.

This man is killing me.

It's my fault, I know it's my fault, but how could we have regressed so severely? After all the night walks and the Christmas card and the pen and the laughing and the talking and the sharing and the understanding? My soul was falling in synch with his—in whatever way—and it was finally easy between us, and absolutely beautiful. How could we (I?) have taken that and thrown it away without a second glance or afterthought? How can everything we've built for a month crumble into the remains of just a passing glance or a stiff shoulder?

He knows things about me, and I know things of him, and yet we act as strangers. If I had the energy, I would absolutely lock him in a drawer until he promised to pretend the whole thing never happened, at the very least, and begin to recognize that I am a human again. That I am his best mate, no matter how harshly he may despise himself for it.

He burdens himself with guilt over our doings, Diary. But it's only making everything worse.

What am I to do? Cannot find my voice when I'm near him. So what am I to do.

Jan 12

4:11 pm

Interesting, Diary. Interesting. I am sympathizing with Ivy.

Was in the kitchen when Stella and Thomas passed by, chatting and laughing. Choosing not to flip a table, I turned to Ivy instead. She was crestfallen, but quickly turned her attention back to the pot she was stirring.

Since it was just us two, I decided to extend an olive branch. "Do you ever miss him? Now that Hallboy's your beau?"

She paused and looked over to me. "Yes." She bowed her head slightly, her grip on the spoon tight. "If he were to truly love me, I'd stay with him forever. I truly would. But he's got Stella now." She glanced in the direction they'd headed.

"No he doesn't. He doesn't love her," I said immediately. Should I have said that?

Her eyes filled with concern. "What? But I thought, at the Servant's Ball—"

I shook my head. "No."

"Well then, who does he love?"

Stared at her wide, naïve eyes. "Nobody," I nearly choked, and left.

11:13 pm

Once again, waited outside for Thomas. Waited for a long while.

With no result.

Jan 14

10:10 pm

All I do is wait for that man. For nothing.

The only good thing about life right now is that in two days' time, the family will be going to London. Carson included. Hopefully, things will be a bit more bearable around here.

Perhaps I can corner Thomas. (without kissing him)

Jan 15

1:53 pm

Alfred. Enough said.

"Stella looked at me today. And let me talk to her as well," he said proudly.

Was about to not congratulate him, but was interrupted by Mrs. Hughes.

"Alfred, that is quite enough. The only thing that you should be focused on at your age, is your work. Now, enough nonsense." She gave him the eye before moving onward.

Watching her retreating figure, he leaned in close to me. "I think we may get back together," he whispered. As if I could care.

"I thought she fancied me," I mumbled, annoyed at his failure to note the details.

"Not for long," he winked, and hurried on as Mrs. Patmore called him.

Hate Alfred, but he does make me feel much better about myself.

4:44 pm

I just cornered Barrow.

Happened upon him in the servants' hall, all alone. Feeling the vigor of determination and humiliation, I marched right up to him and placed my hands aggressively on my hips.

"I know that I've lunged at you twice now—and once, you even kissed me back—but it won't happen again, so you best stop acting so rude—like I don't even exist, you smarmy monkey—and show some respect to your first footman and mate! Because YES, Thomas—we're mates. And we're going to be until I say otherwise!" Felt a little breathless at my speech, but did not regret my actions. Some things need to be said.

He glanced up at me from the newspaper he was reading. "You quite finished?"

I flushed. "For now. Yes."

He nodded, returning his attentions back to the paper. "Good. We'll discuss this later."

Considered snatching that damn paper from his hands, rolling it up, and smacking him over the head with it. "Stop doing that! Just bloody talk to me!"

His eyes shot bullets of warning at me. "Later," he repeated firmly.

I shook my head, feeling defeat in my heart. "You're just saying that. You don't mean it, do you?"

Sighing, he folded up the newspaper and stood up, tucking it under his arm. "Good day, James."

Watched him walk away.

5:27 pm

Not once has Thomas tried to talk to me.

I knew he was a dirty liar.

6:13 pm

There is a light at the end of my black tunnel. Just saw Alfred and Stella talking. Proper talking. And _laughing_.

Now maybe she'll leave Thomas alone? And he'll be so lonely he'll need to start talking to me again?

11:23 pm

I'm going to set him on fire. I am. I am actually going to set Thomas Barrow on fire.

Was sat outside, as I am every night, in hopes that he would waltz out, cigarette in tow. Sat in the cold, amidst the dirty snow, under the empty chasms of sky and dull stars that mocked me in my desolate solitude. Sometimes I hate stars.

It was when my head was hung, my body wracked with shivers, that I heard an all too familiar voice remark:

"I figured you'd be out here."

My head shot up, almost in disbelief. But there he was. Hands in the pockets of his coat, hair falling loose after a long day's work. His stare wasn't hard, not like it has been as of late; there was something almost affectionate in the blink of his eyes, a subtle twist of kindness in his lips.

"I always am."

He tutted, slowly making his way over to me. "You weren't here a couple weeks ago." He stopped just short of me, but didn't sit down.

I turned away. "No. I wasn't." I pawed at the sludgy ground with the toe of my boot. I was bereft of any and all speech. Now that he was here, what do I say?

"I'm sorry for the way things have turned out. I am, truly," came his voice. "But we both know it has to be this way."

"Yes…" I began, but the word was poison to me. Shutting my eyes tightly in hopes that it would allow me to speak easier, I pressed on earnestly—or, as earnestly as I could. "Actually, no. No, I don't agree. I see what you're saying, and if you'd said this to me even just one week ago I may have let it be. But no, Thomas, I don't agree now."

Heard him shuffle. "I can't do this."

"You can!" I shouted, standing up, eyes now open. He was looking at me with a pained expression. Felt a tiny sense of triumph—he was showing emotion! Calming down, I squared my shoulders to him, looking him straight in the eye. "I just want my friend back."

"Then you should probably stop kissing me." A glimmer shone in his eye. Was he mocking me?!

Was torn between rage and horror. "I've done no such thing!" I shouted automatically. Well, dammit.

At my outburst, any amusement within him vanished and his eyes sliced into mine, working their way into my heart. "Can you hear yourself? Honestly? I'm done with all of this, Jimmy. I take the blame for allowing this friendship in the first place—"

"So you keep saying. But you care about me, I know you do!"

"I did," he corrected.

My heart retracted. Knew that he was putting up a front, putting on his mask, knew that it wasn't true, but it hurt all the same. It hurt a lot.

Biting swirls of emotions back, I swallowed. "I'll keep trying," I said in a brittle-yet-trying-to-be-strong voice.

Was fully expecting a hardened quip like "Don't bother," or "Go ahead, chump." But instead, he stared at me, still and fragile as glass, and nodded.

Felt pleased, but empty, and saw in his eyes that there was nothing left to say. So this time, it was me who left him behind.

Oh, Diary. I am just so FRUSTRATED with him. I cannot handle that proud cockroach for one more day!

Jan 16

6:31 am

The family is going to London for the rest of the month. Mr. Carson will be away. Perhaps the mice will play?

10:19 am

Oh god.

Was with Mr. Carson, helping him sort the odds and ends before he departed with the family.

"Now, make sure you keep Alfred in line. And don't forget to polish the silver. And stay out of trouble. Especially with Mrs. Patmore." He gave me the eye.

Smiled, puffing my chest. "Will do, Mr. Carson. You can count on me." Was slightly confused though. Why was I getting all of this responsibility? Surely Mrs. Hughes and Thomas had it under control?

As if reading my thoughts, he continued briskly with, "Of course, Mrs. Hughes will mind the maids, so you need not trouble yourself there. And, of course, she will oversee all the goings-on of the house. But in her absence, you are…in a sense…of higher authority than the others." He struggled with the words, clearly displeased to lend any authority whatsoever to me. Oh, Carson.

"You mean when Mr. Barrow isn't around?" I asked. "About me having higher authority than the others, I mean."

He gave me a quizzical look. "Mr. Barrow? Why, he's coming with us to London. I thought it would be best for him to learn the ropes."

I almost fell over.

Thomas?

Gone?

FOR THE REST OF THE MONTH?

Feeling white-hot panic, my mind raced for something to say. He needs to stay, he absolutely needs to stay. Cannot lose my friend, will not, he must stay! If he leaves, all will be lost!

"Oh, Mr. Carson! I didn't know Mr. Barrow was going with you!" Think of something, Jimmy. Think, think, think!

"Indeed. You'll be glad of that, I'm sure." Eyebrow judgment.

THINK THINK THINK. "Uh—er—well, you see. That's just the thing! I was actually hoping—praying, really—that while the rest of you were away, since the house will be quieter, that I could actually get…" Get what? WHAT?! THINK! "…get some training. Valet training. Since Mr. Barrow's been a valet to His Lordship. And he could show me the ropes. To…better…myself."

Mr. Carson stared at me. "Surely Mr. Bates could assist you at a later date."

"But that's just it. He's always so busy, you see. I thought that, with the family away, now would be a good time?" Please work. Please. Please work.

He stared at me, seeming to ponder. "Training, you say? Hm. Well, I suppose Mr. Barrow can accompany us to London at any time. And his presence here would, of course, help Mrs. Hughes. And allow me to rest easier." He glanced at me, the wheels turning. "Alright. You wish to be trained, and I cannot deny that that is a noble feat. I will alert Mr. Barrow. I'm sure he won't mind."

My heart absolutely sang a chorus of 'Hallelujah.' Thank the heavens. "Thank you, Mr. Carson," I beamed.

But what have I done?

10:34 am

Thomas just caught me in the hallway.

"You've asked Mr. Carson to let me stay so I can train you as a _valet_?!" He was livid.

I dislodged my arm and sniffed. "I thought it would be a lovely opportunity."

"I know what you're doing."

"I don't know what you mean. But I look forward to our first lesson."

With that, I walked on.

Jan 17

3:13 pm

The house is much quieter with everybody gone. Is nice, but a little eerie at the same time.

Am jolly excited though, Diary. Am about to go to my first valet lesson.

Hope Thomas isn't too much of a gob.

5:11 pm

Oh dear. Oh. Dear. Am not sure if this was such a good idea.

Met him downstairs, near the kitchens.

"Ready?" he asked, unamused.

Smiled in response. "Of course."

Seeping with irritation, he led me upward until we reached His Lordship's room.

"His Lordship's allowed us to use his wardrobe as we see fit," he said by way of explanation.

I nodded.

With no attempts at small-talk, he laid out several jackets, explaining to me their care requirements, how they were to be fixed and when, and what was worn for which occasion.

I only half listened.

Found myself mesmerized by the fluidity of his hands as they brushed over the fabric, unbuttoned pockets, and smoothed lapels.

And when I would finally tear myself away from his hands, I was met with those sinfully precious lips, monotonously relaying all the information that he possessed from years of experience. I wonder if he was trained by someone as well? Or had he just picked up all the little habits from keen observance? He is so awfully clever…

"Understand?" he suddenly asked, eyes on me.

I nodded.

"Good. That's today's lesson, then. Till tomorrow." He began to leave.

No! Not yet!

"Er, _Mr. Barrow_?" I asked, hiding a smile as I emphasized the formal name.

He paused before turning around. "Yes, _James_?"

"What's your favorite jacket? Of His Lordship's, I mean."

A sigh, and then a stiff regard. "I can't say."

"Hm." I eyed the finely crafted clothes before me. "I like this one." I peeled a navy blue jacket off its hanger, enjoying the feel of the luxurious texture. A hint of a smile on my lips, I held it up to me. "How do I look?" I asked.

A half-smile peeked out. "Better than His Lordship, I dare say."

My own smile widened. "I dare say," I agreed, and began walking toward him. "But here. I think blue is more your color." I held the jacket up to his stiffened body and gave him a once over. "Yes, much better on you. It brings out your eyes."

What the bleeding hell was wrong with me? 'It brings out your _eyes_?!'

He stared down at me as I continued to inspect the jacket, his hands coming up to rest on the material. "I think that's enough for now," he said, voice barely above a whisper. There were those eyes. Those damn eyes. And those lips. Those damn lips. Both very close to me. Too close. Too, too, too damn close.

I nodded, feeling uncommonly nervous, and took away the jacket. "I suppose you're right. We best be off." I backed away, trying to keep my breathing regular. But as I was putting away the jacket, I felt a tugging at my heart. "Thomas?" I called, hoping he hadn't left yet.

"Yes?" Good.

"Will you be outside tonight?"

A pause. "Not tonight, no."

"Tomorrow?"

"Perhaps."

I nodded, he returned it, and then I heard his footsteps drift away.

Perhaps he should not have stayed. Feel very, very odd.

Jan 18

10:26 pm

Valet training has been very useful. Haven't learned a thing, but Thomas is slowly warming up to me again. He still won't partake in our nightly chats (have no idea how his addiction can handle it. He must be smoking in his room or something.) but he has been much kinder during my lessons.

"After we're done, you may just be the best valet in England," he smirked, opening the door for me.

"Well, I have been trained by the best," I smiled.

His eyebrows shot up. "A compliment? I'm almost touched."

"You should be. Now. Will I see you tonight? The air's been feeling very lonely as of late. It says it's much too clear, and misses your poisonous emissions."

A tiny smile that almost met his eyes. "I think I'll have another early night." Of course.

I sighed, nodding my defeat. "Well. I do hope we can go back to being mates. Someday."

"Someday," he promised. Well, I hope he promised. I'm just going to say he promised.

I just hope someday is sooner than later.

Jan 21

7:01 pm

Thomas told me I have pretty hair.

Said, "You don't have to be in service, you know. Not with that face."

"Are you saying I belong in a circus?" I asked, appalled.

He chuckled. "Not quite. Nobody in the circus has such fetching hair."

Life is lovely. That is all.

Jan 23

11:11 am

Things seem brighter these days, Diary. Even Mrs. Patmore said so.

"You've been cheering up lately! It's nice to see a proper smile again on that face of yours," she smiled, scraping biscuits off the baking sheet.

"Thank you, Mrs. Patmore," I smiled.

"I think he fancies someone," Daisy teased, sharing a smile with Mrs. Patmore.

"Oh, that would be so lovely, Jimmy," Ivy smiled, turning around.

Blushed. Women are strange. "I don't fancy anyone. It's just been very nice out lately."

Mrs. Patmore nodded, a strange smile on her face. "I'm sure. It has been very nice indeed."

As if I would fancy someone, Diary. There's nobody here. The girls here are too silly to feel anything for.

5:46 pm

Just asked Thomas if he thought things were lovely lately.

"I think that things are only as lovely as you make them." He looked up. "Now. What do you know about shining shoes? Or should I ask Ivy that?"

Could smack him sometimes. Can't believe he threw that in my face. Ivy hasn't shined my shoes in months.

Rude man.

Jan 26

11:21 am

Am in quite a good mood today! Just spoke with Alfred.

"Stella's going to the pictures with me tonight. Mrs. Hughes and Mr. Barrow said we could go," he beamed. Thomas agreed? Oh, thank heavens.

"Benjamin took me to the pictures last night. Was lovely," Ivy smiled. Aw. Good for her, the poor thing.

"Nobody ever takes me to the pictures," I heard Daisy grumble quietly from the other side of the kitchen.

"Which is for the best," Mrs. Patmore reminded her.

"I'll take you to the pictures, Daisy," I offered.

Everybody looked at me.

"You?" Alfred asked, brow furrowed.

I nodded. "Yes. Why not?"

"I knew you fancied her," Ivy said pointedly. Oh please, girl. Don't push your luck.

"Well, Daisy?" I asked, ignoring the others.

She looked over to me, her smile lighting up her face. "You mean it?"

"Of course."

"Alright, then! My half day's tomorrow!"

"Lovely. I'll just run it by Mrs. Hughes."

"And Mr. Barrow," Mrs. Patmore reminded.

"And Mr. Barrow."

Hehe. Can't wait to ask his permission. Hehehe.

6:12 pm

Think Mrs. Hughes is a bit stressed out.

"YOU want to go to the pictures too? Why is it that every single one of my staff demands to go out, willy nilly, leaving me here to pick up the pieces?"

Stared at her. Was not like Mrs. Hughes to be so….annoyed. "Don't you have Mr. Barrow?" I asked.

She sighed. "Yes, and without him, I don't know where I'd be. Thank the good lord he stayed back. It's near impossible to keep up Mr. Carson's standards on my own!"

Felt bad. "I'd be happy to help in any way I can, Mrs. Hughes."

She smiled and patted my arm. "You're a kind lad. But you've your own work to do. Don't mind me. Now, you take Daisy and be back at a reasonable hour."

"I will. Thank you, Mrs. Hughes."

Poor thing. Is obviously overworked.

7:11 pm

Just got done with my valet training. And I asked permission to go to the pictures with Daisy.

"Certainly. Would you like to skip today's lesson?"

Prickled with annoyance. Well. He was practically throwing me out, wasn't he? "No," I said hotly. "I'm just asking your permission. I need to learn still, haven't I?"

He shrugged. "Thought you'd enjoy the free time."

"Oh, bugger off."

"Does that mean you want to leave?"

"No! I—never mind. Train me."

Hiding a smile, he continued with the lesson.

That man. Let me tell you.

10:46 pm

Just got back from the pictures with Daisy. I fell asleep for almost the whole thing.

"Did you enjoy it?" she asked excitedly on the way back.

Uh. What was it about, again? What did we even see? "Oh, yeah! Loads," I nodded enthusiastically.

"What was your favorite part?"

Shit. "Oh, probably…the end."

She blinked. "Really? I thought it was quite sad…"

"Oh, yes. But necessary, don't you think?"

"Well, no. Neither of them had to die. It was all just a misunderstanding."

People died? Damn, what did I miss? "Oh, well. Even so. It was very necessary. To convey that message."

"What message."

Shit. "About…death."

Realization dawned on her. "Oohhh, yes. Yes, you're right. Life is too important to just throw away like that, isn't it?"

"Exactly."

Whew! That were close.

I still have no idea what we saw.

11:01 pm

Just spoke with Thomas.

Had just put away my diary and was about to go to bed, when I heard a soft knock at my door. Praying it wasn't Alfred, I opened it. Thomas.

His smirk greeted me. "How were the flick?"

"Jolly good."

He nodded. "What were it about?"

I narrowed my eyes. "We both know I didn't watch it. So stop acting so smug."

He grinned. "I knew you wouldn't make it. You fell asleep, didn't you? I told you that you could have left earlier!"

Averted my gaze. "Well… I didn't want to miss my lesson with you," I mumbled, playing with the lock on the door.

There was a beat of silence before he continued. "I see. Well, I've just come to say that tomorrow's our last lesson."

I looked up. "What?"

"I've taught you every possible thing I can. There really isn't that much to begin with."

"You can't think of anything else?" I implored before I could stop myself.

He stared at me, eyes even. "No." As I looked away, he nudged me with his elbow. "But I think I may need to start going outside for a smoke again. If I keep up my current habits, my curtains will never be the same."

Looked up and smiled. "Tomorrow, then? We can continue having our chats at night?"

Returning the smile, he corrected me. "Not tomorrow. The next night. I promise."

Felt warmth spread through my body. "Alright, deal. Goodnight, Thomas."

"Goodnight, Jimmy."

Things are good, Diary. Am so glad my accidental mouth mistakes with Thomas haven't ruined everything. We are just about back to normal!

Jan 27

9:27 am

Ivy just asked me how my valet training has been going.

"Very well. I'm learning quite a bit," I smiled.

"I'm glad to hear it. I know you don't get on with Mr. Barrow."

Was about to protest, then remembered: to the public, we severely dislike each other. We are each other's own little secret. "Yes. He's a tosser."

She shook her head, rolling her eyes at me. "How has he been, though? Does he…ever mention me?" Oh god. I thought she was finally over him?

"Well, no. But how's Hallboy?" I supplied, hoping to lighten the situation.

"His name's Benjamin."

"Yes, that one. How is he?"

"Very well, thank you. Better than Mr. Barrow, anyway," she added under breath, leaving for the servants' hall.

Hm. It appears somebody is becoming a scorned lover.

9:29 pm

Not that she was his lover.

12:51 pm

I wonder if Thomas is still hanging about Stella? Must ask him at our lesson. (our last lesson!)

5:01 pm

"Well. Are you ready for your last lesson in valet-dom?" Thomas smiled, sauntering over to His Lordship's closet.

"Indeed. So, are you hanging about Stella still? Because if you're putting up such a fuss with being my mate again because it's too complicated, surely you're not still involved with her—a situation FAR more complicated than ours."

He tilted his head slightly as he studied me. "Is it more complicated?"

"Of course! You feel nothing for her. You're pretending!"

"True. But perhaps…"

"Perhaps what?" Began to feel a sense of dread.

"She's quite pretty. A man could do worse."

"Surely, you don't mean that." I stared at him.

"It would be easier." He paused, his head slightly lowered, hands stilled on the wardrobe. "Sometimes I wonder if I should just marry her. Or, any girl. Perhaps it would all be a little easier." His voice was distant, as if he momentarily lost himself.

Felt my heart quicken, but it beat with dread and fear. Do not want Thomas to ruin his life. Do not want it at all. "No. It wouldn't be easier. Not when you're living a lie."

At this, he looked over to me. "Oh? You don't find it easier living a lie?"

I stared at him. My whole body turned crimson. "Perhaps we should skip our last lesson," I heard myself say. Couldn't think over the crashing waves of panic, confusion, and plain old emotion within me. Why had he said that? What did that mean?

He studied me, then nodded slowly. "Perhaps you're right."

Maintaining even breath, I left.

Now what?

8:23 pm

Asked Mrs. Hughes if I could retire to my room early.

"Yes, go on. There's certainly nothing going on down here," she smiled.

Am up here now, alone, feeling physically ill. Once again, Thomas' voice haunts me.

' _Oh? You don't find it easier living a lie?'_

What does that mean? I don't live a lie. Why does he think that? Why did he say that?

I'm not living a lie.

9:11 pm

I may have kissed him twice. I know, that looks bad. But I already explained that they were both meaningless accidents. Normal physical responses.

I don't have feelings for him. He's a bloke. I can't. I couldn't. I won't.

9:23 pm

But how can it be wrong to have feelings? Do not understand. How can love be a wonderful thing, but only under certain conditions? Isn't all love good?

If my heart follows another heart…surely there's nothing wrong in it.

Not that I'm saying my heart follows Thomas.

But….

I just don't know.

Jan 28

6:10 pm

Haven't seen Thomas all day today. He's been on the go, usually alongside Mrs. Hughes.

"Well, he's quite the busy body," Stella said, watching his every move.

"Why do you say that?" Alfred immediately asked.

She shrugged. "Have barely had a moment's chance to speak with him, that's all."

Ivy rolled her eyes but remained silent.

"Well, you can say hi to me," Alfred said, scooting closer to her.

She shot a brief smile his way. "You're such a sweetheart, Alfred. But I best get on or Mrs. Hughes will gut me like a fish. 'No slacking about now, just cuz Mr. Carson's away!'" she imitated, waggling her finger. Alfred laughed, but I shot her a glare.

Nobody mocks my Hughes.

I hope Stella quits soon. Or gets sacked.

9:49 pm

Am currently outside, waiting for Thomas to come out here. He said he would.

I'm not leaving till he shows.

10:30 pm

He's still not here.

I'll sleep here if I have to! I bloody will!

10:48 pm

Perhaps not sleep here. It's really unbearably cold. Do not want to die.

Jan 29

1:35 am

He came. Finally.

Walked out, pulling a cigarette from behind his ear, and sent a half-smile my way. "Well, look who it is. Didn't think you'd show."

"Why wouldn't I?" I demanded.

"After your little strop yesterday, I wasn't sure."

Looked down at my hands. "Well. I came."

"So I see." Heard his exhale, and saw the plumes of smoke in my peripherals. "To answer your earlier question, I haven't seen much of Stella lately. I've been trying to keep myself busy, if you know what I mean."

"You've been giving yourself extra work to avoid her?" So that's why he's been in such a whirlwind! HAHA!

He smirked at me and winked. "That's how it's done. Alfred will snatch her up soon, anyway. Or someone will." He took a drag, and I couldn't help but watch, mesmerized by his flawless movements and flushed lips. Almost beautiful.

' _Oh? You don't find it easier living a lie?'_

Shut up, brain.

"Well, I'm glad to hear that," I coughed, interrupting my thoughts before they became any more convoluted.

"Thought you would be."

Smiled, and felt stirrings of emotion in my stomach. I needed to say something—something needed to be said. "Thomas." He looked to me. "I'm sorry. About before, about…what I did. Both times." I blushed a little, so I ducked my head, hoping he wouldn't see. "I won't do it again," I promised. But as soon as I said it, it felt wrong. My insides twisted.

He nodded, eyes far away, before coming over and sitting down beside me. "I'm sorry, too. We can be mates. But a lot of folk have stuck their necks out for me so I could keep this job—I don't want to go to that territory again and risk it all. Then again, we aren't risking anything, are we?"

I wasn't sure if he was genuinely asking or if it was rhetorical, so I kept quiet, eyes fixed on the gray tweed of his jacket. Why did I feel so wrong? Felt as though I were going to be sick…. Why?

"The family will be back from London soon," he offered at my extended silence.

Could only nod as I brought my gaze to his face, the night casting sharp shadows across his face. And amidst the darkness, there were his eyes—glinting brighter than the stars. Felt strange as they sparkled with his every movement, with every suck of the cigarette, with every glance toward the ground. Could not stop staring.

What was wrong with me?

Surely not…

My heart clouded.

"Thomas," I suddenly said, standing up. Needed to leave. Needed to stop thinking.

He looked up to me, startled. "You alright?"

I swallowed thickly, eyes fixed on his. "I need to go to bed. I confess, I-I don't feel well." Turned my gaze away, hoping he wouldn't see through my pathetic excuse for a getaway.

"Very well. Do you need me to get you anything?" Actual concern tinged his voice, and it only made the clouds in my heart deepen.

"No, thank you." I made my way to the door, palms sticky with the sickness that had suddenly encompassed me. Before opening the door, I paused. "I'll see you tomorrow?"

He nodded, examining me. "Yes. Tomorrow. Goodnight, James."

"Goodnight, Thomas. I've missed you."

I left before he could respond.

Diary, what's wrong with me? Now that we're finally talking again, now that we're just about back to normal…I'm ruining it again. What's happening?

Part of me, I think, knows. I can see it staring back at me, glaringly obvious, in the glint of his eyes and the curve of his lips. It screams at me through the velvet in his voice, and burns me in the fire of his touch.

But it can't be true….

Can it?

10:10 pm

Am hiding from the world. Told Thomas I was still too ill for tonight's chat.

"Again? You've been banging on about how I need to start chatting with you more, and now that I have, you're always running off to bed!"

"The rest does me good. I'll be better soon," I promised him.

I hope I'm right.

Jan 30

10:07 am

Have gone to Daisy for advice. I never thought I would say that sentence. (I should've known better)

"Daisy? How do you know if you're in love?" The words almost clogged my throat, but I knew they had to be said.

She smiled up at me. "I knew you fancied someone!"

"I don't _just_ fancy—them. I don't think? I don't know," I agonized helplessly, turning away from her as my cheeks reddened. God, it was hot in there.

"Who is it?" she implored, an eager grin covering her face.

"Nobody, now can you answer my question?"

"Well, I don't know. I suppose you just…know." She shrugged. "Maybe you should ask for her hand?"

Wow. That is quite possibly the worst advice I have ever been given.

"Er—sure. Thanks, Daisy."

Love Daisy, but will never ask her for help again.

11:13 am

Who can I talk to? Alfred won't listen, and if he does, he'll just be an annoying sod about it. Ivy's too silly to understand real love. Mrs. Patmore will box me on the ears. Stella's a whore. Mrs. Hughes will scold me.

And, of course, cannot speak with Thomas.

Who then? I am emotionally shipwrecked.

4:30 pm

Today is hideous. Today is O'Brien's hair. And Alfred's face. And Stella's love for Thomas. And everything else exceptionally grotesque in this world.

Just ran into Thomas.

"Oi, Jimmy. I won't be able to chat tonight. Mrs. Hughes needs help with a load of things before Carson gets back. I can't spare the time." Of course. The night I was actually planning to come.

Hid my heart-shattering disappointment. "Oh. Oh, no problem at all! That works out much better. I need my sleep!" I said happily, slapping him on the shoulder.

Ugh, what was I doing?

He stared at me. "I see. Well, I best get on." He eyed me as he continued on his way.

So now I'm not seeing Thomas tonight.

Well, it's back to being the lone wolf.

Jan 31

6:18 am

My life is incredibly boring. Went to bed early last night because Thomas was busy being a little bitch, and woke up early. Now I'm sipping tea, watching the sunrise. And thinking about Thomas. Because I don't know what to think about him. Does this make sense?

Oh, Diary. I am so confused. Always feel so sick. Always feel confused. Always feel lost and bewildered. And emotional.

I wonder if Mrs. Patmore will let me have any more fresh bread?

11:40 am

Everybody's just returned from London.

"Mr. Carson!" Mrs. Hughes greeted warmly.

He beamed. "Mrs. Hughes."

"I trust London was a success?"

"Indeed. Lady Mary is as healthy as a horse, and the baby should be due in late June!"

"I wasn't asking about Lady Mary."

Chuckled. Love that Mrs. Hughes doesn't give a hoot about Lady Mary. Love even more how utterly appalled Carson gets about it.

Am happy that everybody's back—even Molesley who I forget is there half of the time.

Maybe not Bates, though. Or O'Brien. I could do without them.

It will be nice to have Anna again though. Do not chat with her much, but she is a lovely presence. Very kind. And so wise.

11:45 am

Oh my god! Anna! I will speak to Anna! She'll help me out! She'll advise me!

Must speak with her. Tonight.

10:56 pm

Oh no.

After Carson dismissed everyone to bed, and Anna and Bates were preparing to leave for their cottage, I swiftly made my way over to them.

"Anna?" I asked in as kind a voice as I could.

She turned around and smiled. "Hello, Jimmy."

"Hi. Erm, I was wondering if…perhaps…I could speak with you?"

Her features relayed her surprise. "Oh. Certainly." She glanced back at Bates. "Go on. I'll meet you there."

"Are you sure?" he asked kindly. Of course she's sure. Move along, old man.

She smiled and nodded before turning her attentions back to me. "Alright then," she said, settling back down in the chair next to me. "What's this all about?"

I stared at my hands, having no idea where to begin. It's easier with Daisy. She's naïve. Anna could very well figure out my secret. My horrible shame. (but why must it be shame?)

"Anna…." I swallowed. Spit it out, Jimmy. "Anna, I need advice. And I didn't know who else to turn to."

She smiled gently, placing her hand on mine. "It's alright. What's the matter?"

My god, this was hard. Could I disappear? Please? Or could the house collapse? That would be fine, too. "Well, you see, I…. I just was wondering… How-how do you know…if you're in love?" I barely choked out the words, eyes unblinkingly fixed downward.

Her hand clutched mine a bit tighter. "Well. I suppose it depends on the person. With Mr. Bates... Well, I just knew from the moment I saw him, really. It was instant. I was drawn to him in a way I'd never known before and…I knew that I could never again live without that part of myself that I discovered in him." She tried to catch my eye. "Your whole body reacts to it. Not just your mind, but your soul, your heart, and your very breath," she half-laughed.

Felt my insides twist. Check, check, check.

"I see," I managed, feeling absolutely dead with dread. Shit.

"It's not a bad thing," she added, noting my distress.

I mustered an empty smile. "It can be. But I'm sure it won't be for long," I reassured her.

She gave me a pitying look.

Unable to withstand her eyes, I stood up. "Thank you, Anna. Really. You've helped me a great deal. However, I don't wish to take up any more of your time. So I bid you good night." My voice felt far away, resounding in my ears as alien. Was overwhelmed, so overwhelmed.

She nodded, standing up. "Of course. But Jimmy—love, in any form or situation, is a beautiful thing. No matter the circumstances, you needn't lament it. Celebrate it. You're lucky to find it, you really are." Her words were soft and reassuring, and for an instant, they warmed me. But only for an instant.

"Thank you," I muttered again, and she departed.

Was so lost in thought, almost forgot about meeting Thomas outside.

Until I ran into him.

"There you are," he greeted, swaggering toward me. "I was just on my way outside if you care to join?"

Stared at him, clad in his jacket and under butler garb, his hand gesturing toward the door. His other tucked in his pocket, probably fondling a cigarette.

"I'm still not feeling very well. I think I may have to go to bed."

A quizzical frown. "Again? Should I call for Dr. Clarkson tomorrow?"

I shook my head. "I'm sure I'll be better by then."

"Alright. Well, if you need anything…"

I nodded, unable to look at him any longer. What if he knew? What if he could see it in my eyes?

"I must confess I've been quite lonely, standing out there all by my lonesome these past few nights." He smirked, and was probably meant to be teasing, but it made everything hurt a little bit more.

Still, couldn't help but smile at him. "I miss it, too," I blurted. What? No, Jimmy, stop. Stop before you cause a scene.

He smiled downward, then looked up through his lashes. "Goodnight, Jimmy."

"Goodnight, Thomas. Have a….good smoke," I finished pathetically. Stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

"Of course. And I will see you tomorrow," he said, walking backwards, his tone bereft of any leeway in the situation.

Nodded and continued up the stairs.

Very much want to be outside with him, Diary. But do not know if I can do it just now.

Not after tonight.

Not after what I've realized.

But perhaps have known all along.

I'm in love with Thomas Barrow.


	6. February

The Diary of Jimmy Kent

February

Feb 1

4:21 am

I hate 1921.

I hate February.

I hate emotions.

I hate Thomas Barrow.

I hate myself most of all.

Have been blown apart by my own destruction.

Should never have spoken to Anna.

4:22 am

I do not hate Thomas. Can never utter those words ever again. Is a lie, I know it's a lie. Do not hate Thomas at all—not nearly.

5:05 am

Is it possible to die on the inside? I mean, actually die, Diary? Can your heart stop beating, can your organs crush in on themselves, can your blood boil into steam and leave your body, leaving you a dry carcass of loneliness and pain? All the while, your outer body remaining perfectly intact and alarmingly attractive? Can that happen?

Because such is the case with me.

Cannot sleep. Feel so dead on the inside, cannot shut my eyes without feeling even more wretched, all my thoughts forcing themselves to the forefront.

Cannot sleep because I am in love with Thomas Barrow.

In love.

With Thomas.

Barrow.

How do people exist when they're in love? Was absolutely miserable before I realized how I bloody felt, but now that I've put two and two together, I'm even more bloody miserable.

How could I have fallen in love with…a man? An actual man! Not just a manly lady—a real MAN. The kind that can get me locked away in prison. The kind that can destroy a perfectly beautiful friendship. The kind that has already destroyed me.

Oh, god. What if he finds out? What if he can tell how I feel just by looking at me? How will I ever look him in the eye?

I'm never leaving my room again, and am going to permanently immerse myself in my cocoon of despair.

6:12 am

… I really should be getting up. Am supposed to report downstairs soon.

But I cannot. Cannot face Thomas who can, and will, discover my disgusting love for him, since he apparently knows everything.

He cannot know. He must not know. For we can never be more than mates. I can never be with him—I just can't. Is not the life for me. Am not even sure if he still fancies me…though I am quite sure he doesn't.

Mostly because he's told me, more or less, this past month.

Life is absolutely over.

Must avoid Thomas as long as possible until I come up with a cunning and clever defense, and master the ability to hide my feelings.

I must be a chameleon.

6:47 am

I am a terrible chameleon.

Heard a light knock on my door about a quarter after six.

Put out by the fact that I was required to leave the safety of my cocoon, I trudged angrily to the door and cracked it open, cautious of my visitor and fearing it would be Thomas.

Of course, it was Thomas.

He inspected my face through the crack, eyebrows raised. "You're alive, then?"

Must avoid eye contact. Obviously cannot—will not—slam the door in his face, but can and MUST avoid eye contact. Must not convey my secret truths to him.

"I'm very much alive, Mr. Barrow. Thank you for your consideration." Shit. Was that too formal? Would he notice something's afoot? Was I being a proper chameleon?

His eyebrows pinched their confusion. " _'Mr. Barrow_?'" His expression suggested I had sprouted another head.

I coughed, keeping my head down, eyes away. "You know, there was a time when you would have been very pleased to hear me call you so," I muttered downward.

"And there was a time when we would never be having this conversation. Now, what's wrong with you? Are you ill?" Upon my hesitation, he pushed the door open a bit farther. "I know you've been feeling off for the past couple of days. If you want me to fetch Dr. Clarkson, I will. Or tell Carson you need the day off?"

I looked up at him, unthinkingly. "Could you? Could you ask Carson to give me the day off? Just so I can rest a bit?"

He smiled, ever so slightly. Shit. No eye contact, Jimmy! Looked quickly away. "Of course," he said easily, resting against the doorframe. "He may put up a fuss, but it's always better to have no footman than a wobbly one." Wobbly? Hm.

Feeling too appreciative and love-burdened for argument, I merely nodded my thanks, still half-hiding behind my door, fidgeting with the lock.

"I'll tell Alfred to bring up a tray," he then said, all professional-like, about to depart.

What? Alfred? That cinnamon stick? Coming up here? Sharing words with me? Not Thomas?

"No!" I practically shouted in his face.

He stared.

Ok, calm down, Jimmy.

Cleared my throat, and quickly regained composure. "No, I was actually wondering if… _you_ would bring me a tray? If you've the time, of course." I added quickly.

He quirked an eyebrow. "Me?" I nodded. "Why, what's the difference?" he asked almost suspiciously.

"I hate Alfred," I said simply.

He smiled, and shook his head. "He's only bringing a tray, Jimmy. I think you'll survive it." He pushed himself off of the doorframe and sauntered away.

I stared after him.

So…does this mean he's not coming?

8:01 am

Does Thomas hate me? Why doesn't he want to bring me a tray? He must hate me.

Back to the cocoon.

9:38 am

Heard a knock a little bit ago. Refusing to open the door for Alfred, I stayed firmly put, swaddled in my cocoon of despair, and doing my best not to think or feel. (emotions are for weak people)

"Come in," I said gruffly, voice muffled by layers of blankets.

Heard the door creak open.

"Jimmy, what on earth are you doing?" came a very unimpressed voice.

Thomas!

I bolted upward, shoving any and all obstructions away from my arms and face.

He came!

"Thomas!" I greeted happily, hastily fixing my hair.

Dammit. Down, boy. Be the chameleon!

Tray in hand, he'd already stepped inside, gently shutting the door behind him. Eyes shooting toward me, he began elegantly setting down each item on me bedside table. "What were that about, you all tucked away and hidden? Did you get lost?" he smirked, nodding toward my hollowed out blanket cave.

Hm. Best not explain.

"My—er—head hurt. I were hiding from light, as it made it worse."

"Indeed." The final plate set down. "How you feeling, then?" he asked, straightening up, tray under his arm.

"Alright, I guess. Did you talk to Carson?" I asked, using all power within me to focus on my bed and not the man that was standing in my room.

"I did. He weren't very pleased, but I dare say he'll survive. Can I get you anything else?"

I shook my head, biting back a, 'Could you stay with me all day and lay with me and comb my hair, please?', and instead settled for a, "No. Thank you, Thomas." I hate this.

Giving a curt nod, he made to leave, then paused at the door. He looked back over his shoulder. "Jimmy."

On instinct, I looked up. I hate his face. I hate his face. "Yes?"

"If…if you're still not feeling back to form tonight, I could come to you. Here. For a chat, I mean. That is, if you're lonely, or…" he drifted off. His voice still held the empowered delicacy of always, but there was an added layer of awkwardness. Love seeing Thomas out of sorts. Is adorable.

No!

Not adorable!

Is…..

Ugh. I am done for.

Brushing away every thought that had unwantingly bloomed, I smiled up at him. "That would be nice, Thomas. Thank you."

He returned the smile—a really beautiful one, I must say, not one that I've usually seen from him—and left, leaving behind only the light click of the door.

10:00 am

Why did I agree to seeing that man? That is the opposite of staying away from him until I've become master of my emotions.

Must cancel.

10:03 am

Absolutely must cancel.

10:10 am

You see, Diary, I may have realized certain feelings about Thomas. But I've also realized we can never be together. We just can't. We're friends, us, and that's the bottom line. I'm not cut out for a life that requires me to look over my shoulder every time I feel.

Yes, I may be in love with him. Sort of.

Yes, it may be splitting my heart, organs, and very cells apart ever since I realized it. A little bit.

Yes, he may be the most important thing in my life. I guess.

But no. We will never happen. How can we, in a world that scorns such love?

Besides, may have a fondness for Thomas, but it certainly does not mean I want to be with him. One day, I'll meet a proper gal and fall in love, and we'll get married and have children, and live in a house together and be perfectly normal.

Thomas is just a phase. Everybody falls in love with their best mate at one point.

Nothing to be concerned about.

11:45 am

I suppose, since it's nothing to be concerned about, I don't have to cancel tonight. Will simply bury my emotions and have a nice time, as we usually do.

Yes.

1:11 pm

Am severely irked. Severely.

Heard another knock on me door a bit ago, and, thinking it were Thomas, bounded up, opening the door grandly.

"Well, helloo-" I stopped short.

I was currently saying hello to Alfred.

He grinned, nodding his greeting to me. "Morning, Sleeping Beauty."

Was there a rock anywhere near me that I could throw? "I can take the tray," I grumbled, plucking it from his hands.

With a nod, he eyed me. "You don't seem very ill. You skipping out on work?"

Not having it, I brusquely turned away. "I think I just heard Stella's voice."

"What? Where? In the _men's hall_?" he asked incredulously, darting out into the hallway.

Seized my opportunity and locked the door.

I know Thomas sent that stain on purpose. Can't be too nice, can he?

4:11 pm

I know I shouldn't be… But I am very excited to see Thomas tonight.

Has been awhile since we've chatted. Properly.

5:56 pm

But what if he can detect my feelings? What if they reflect in my eyes? What if I radiate intense love?

He'll never speak to me again—he won't. He's made it clear we're just to be mates.

Why do I always have to ruin everything?

6:00 pm

Perhaps I haven't ruined everything.

Since, after all, is just a phase.

9:49 pm

He should be coming any moment now!

11:37 pm

"How's the patient?" Thomas asked, upon finally entering my room, sending a smirk my way. His skin glowed warm under dim light as he pulled a chair near to my bed, its legs scraping dully against the chipped wooden floor. And against my tragic, warped heart.

"Very well," I replied, unable to resist watching his every move as he slung his jacket over the back of the chair. Is okay though, right? Since it's just a phase? I can watch all I want—no harm done.

"I expect you had a very dull day, indeed," he commented, settling into his seat, eyes calmly fixed on me.

"You have no idea. And oi—what was with Alfred coming up to give me a tray? I specifically said—"

"Did you?" he cut me off, ridden with mock surprise. "Why, I remember no such request." How subtle he was. A real actor.

Narrowed my eyes. "I'm sure." He smiled at my tone, before sliding his hands in his pockets. I eyed him and his stilled movements, noting the absence of a key attribute. "You're not going to smoke?" I asked, surprised.

His head tilted slightly and he shrugged, eyes flicking back to me in nonchalance. "I'm not about to smoke you out of your room. I know you don't like it much."

What? He was withholding from an all-encompassing addiction? Because I don't like it much?

Couldn't stop the pour of sugary emotions that settled into my large and foolish smile as I held back a near-squeal. (Well, more of a grunt, really.) "That's kind of you."

He shrugged once more, a smug smile playing at his lips. "I've been known to be, on the occasion."

I've noticed.

Fearing his ability to read my thoughts, I once again ducked my head, positioning myself away from him and his sixth sense.

Could feel his eyes on me, studying me, as a silence began to settle in. "Jimmy."

"Yes?" Must not look at him.

"What's wrong?"

Panicked. "I'm sick, Thomas."

"Aside from that."

"Nothing. Now can you tell me how your day went and if I missed anything substantial while I was rotting away up here?" I asked impatiently, gripping my blankets tightly around me.

Could feel the tense pause before he sighed. "Well, not much happened, I'm sorry to say. Bates said you'd had a talk with Anna last night—"

"HE WHAT?! That miserable old cowpie! What the bloody hell did he say 'bout it?!" I thundered, ready to spring from my bed and find a sledgehammer.

Ohmylord. Ohmylord. OHMYLORD.

If my secret and horrifying love for Thomas is discovered because BATES can't keep his droopy mouth shut—but, wait. How does he know? Unless….

Anna told him?!

OHMYLORD. IS THERE NOBODY I CAN TRUST IN THIS GODFORSAKEN HELL PIT OF AN ABBEY?!

Amidst my internal struggle, Thomas stared at me in a manner that prompted me to once more wonder if that second head of mine had sprouted. "What on earth is your problem?" he asked, having none of it.

Felt pinpricks of sweat on the back of my neck. Had I overreacted?

Suddenly ridden with self-consciousness, I hid behind my go-to answer:

"I'm sick."

"You're sick, so you're irrationally angry at Bates?"

I suspected he didn't believe me.

"I'm not angry. I just want to know what he said."

"He said you'd spoken to Anna. That is _all_ he said." He gave me a hard look. "I was just about to ask _you_ what you two were talking about, seeing as how you tend not to associate with Anna and Bates… Being that he's a 'miserable, old cowpie.'" His amusement was evident under the veneer of displeasure.

I blushed crimson and looked away. I needed to calm down. Now.

Am terrible at being in love.

"Ah. Well, I'd only spoken to Anna because…I was just…wondering if she could sew something up for me. Not a big matter," I said hastily, humiliated at my childish temper. (Do not regret what I said about Bates, though. If that old toad had actually known what was spoken between me and Anna, I'm sure he would mention it to Thomas. But Anna would never betray me like that. Is trustworthy.)

"I see."

Awkward silence.

I'm not in love with you. I'm not in love with you.

The tension surrounding us began to fill me with a creeping terror the longer he remained silent. Am an absolute mess, can barely hold a conversation—what if he looks into it? What if he looks and discovers the truth?

Oh please no.

Must take control of the situation.

"Isn't it nice to be friends?" I blurted out. Here we go again, Jimmy. Lovely.

A raised eyebrow. "Why do you say?"

"Don't you agree?"

"You know I do. But why mention it?"

"Can't I mention things now?"

"You can, obviously, but it seems a bit out of nowhere."

Panicked ever so slightly at the hard, pointedness of his eyes as they searched mine. My heart picked up pace and I felt the sudden urge to defend my territory. Like a cornered hyena. "Well. I'm just really glad we're mates. And only mates. We could never be anything more, as you know. I could never have feelings for a man. Especially you. Never. I'm just relaying the facts to you, and I'm really glad we're mates because I care about you—but only as a mate. And never a lover. And I'm glad we know that. Both of us."

Had I just used the word ' _lover'_?

I think I may have partially blacked out during my little speech. Because there is no other explanation why I would have said something so absolutely horrid.

The look I received, upon finally shutting up, said it all. Enchanting blue eyes stiffened. Vermilion lips pursed, possessing a coldness too apparent to ignore yet too subtle to address.

But, despite this, his marbled brow remained smooth as silk. All of the real emotion was sealed away, hidden beneath his guise of calm composure. Still, I could feel it humming beneath his skin, threatening to tear at his tightened features.

And yet, all that I received was silence.

Filled with regret, I attempted another pathetic, "I'm sick…" by way of explanation.

Goddammit, Jimmy. Why did you have to say that, you buffoon? Now everything's done and spoiled.

Thomas never looked at me. "Goodnight," his velvety voice suddenly clipped. In one fluid motion, he stood up and returned his chair to my desk.

"Thomas—" I began, but the door shut.

Do not understand, Diary. All last month he kept berating me for kissing him and complicating our friendship, saying we couldn't be mates anymore and that if anything more were to happen, he would leave because it would endanger his job and whatnot. He said that, all of it, and now, I've gone and said the same thing and he's just walked out, furious with me?

I wish I never discovered these wretched feelings.

Feb 2

11:10 am

Today is gray and faded, and even the snow is beginning to look like sludge. The only thing keeping me afloat in this sinking hole of a life, is Mrs. Patmore.

"Oh, dear. He's got that face again," she commented, bustling into the kitchen with Daisy.

"Is it your sweetheart?" Daisy asked with a teasing smile.

The only chameleon attribute I possess is the ability to turn a completely different color: crimson.

"Ohhhh, we have a sweetheart, do we?" Mrs. Patmore smiled, picking up an enormous bag of flour.

"Who is she, Jimmy?" Ivy smiled from the stove.

She? Who is _she_? You narrow-minded, ignorant peasants.

It's a HE. IT'S A _HE_ WHO I AM PINING AFTER. AND HE'S NOT EVEN MY SWEETHEART, SO STOP RUBBING IT IN MY FACE, YOU NASTY KITCHEN SCRUBBERS.

Suffering internally (am I honestly going to have to constantly be reminded that I'm currently in love with a man?), I ignored the lot, instead walking over to my tray.

"Well, hey there, you. We're just having a bit of fun," Mrs. Patmore said, catching sight of my tortured expression.

"I know," I said quietly, picking up the tray. Stay calm. Keep eyes dry. Breathe.

She sighed. "Alright, you. Set that down. The Dowager's not due for another ten minutes, you can spare the time."

"I'm being prepared," I said stiffly, ready to walk on.

"Well, I don't know where you're going to bring your prepared little rump to, since you certainly can't bring it up to the drawing room just yet. Set it down."

Remained silent, hands tightly gripping the tray.

Another sigh. "Would you like some cake, Jimmy?"

Almost dropped the tray.

Cake?

"Can I honestly?" I asked incredulously, immediately setting down the blasted thing and forgetting all previous discomfort.

She smiled, shaking her head. "I thought that would cheer you up. C'mon, I've a bit left over."

Love cake. Is a soft blanket on the harsh pain of my feelings.

8:21 pm

If I had just one wish, it would be for Alfred to become a mute.

Were clearing away the dining room—and I was purposefully keeping to myself to avoid any unwanted conversation—when Stella finally exited, leaving just me and Alfred.

He gave a low whistle as he watched her leave. "She looks better and better every day."

Um, no she does not.

Kept silent.

"I've decided she's the one for me. Now that Ivy and Benjamin are pairing up." Oh, the romance. "Stella's the one, Jimmy. And I think I've a chance with her if Mr. Barrow stops chatting about with her all the time."

At this, I paused, candlesticks suspended. "He does?" I couldn't help but ask, my fury beginning to take hold at the very thought of him, eyes bright, with her at his side, her grubby paws all over him.

He nodded solemnly. "Aye. He always has her laughing 'bout one thing or another. Think he must be up to summat since he doesn't have any other reason to speak with a girl." Wow. You great bloody git.

"Yes, that makes sense," I breathed sarcastically, weighing the candlesticks in my hands and briefly wondering how much damage would be done if I pelted them at Alfred's head.

Cannot stand Alfred. Thank the lord that I'm first footman, otherwise I'd be tempted to throw myself off of a mountain with him as my superior.

Still though. How often does Thomas chat with Stella? I thought that was over?

Must ask him. He's been avoiding me all day, but I will be sure to corner him tonight.

9:29 pm

Thomas is nowhere to be seen. He wasn't even at dinner. Where on earth could that man be?

9:51 pm

I will find him. He may think he can hide.

But I will find him.

11:45 pm

Successfully found Thomas.

Wish I didn't.

Found him outside, struggling to light his cigarette. Without a word, I walked up to him, raising my hands against his, creating a blockade against the bitter winds that threatened to extinguish the flame that had just burst from his lighter. Taking the opportunity provided, he quickly lit his cigarette, inhaled, then glanced up at me through the smoke, nodding his appreciation.

"You've been avoiding me," I accused. (I can't count how many times we've had this conversation. I hate this man.)

"I thought you could use the distance," he breathed, taking another drag. He turned away from me, walking to the edge of the wall, the smoke leaving a trail behind him.

"Why?" I asked, remaining where I was. Cannot risk close proximity. Would be dangerous, considering my current affliction.

"You've not been yourself."

Closed my eyes, silently admitting defeat. Well, how much longer could I deny it? "No. I haven't."

He turned to look at me, emotions level. "What's wrong with you?"

I shook my head. "I'm not here to talk about that. I'm here to talk about Stella."

Could tell that I'd taken him off guard. "Stella? What about her?"

"Alfred says you chat with her quite a bit."

"I suppose, yeah."

"I thought you were trying to get rid of her."

He smirked. "I am. She's persistent, though. Much moreso than Ivy."

"How do you mean?" I asked sharply. I swear, if that little harlot dared even _touch_ him….

A glint flashed in his eyes as he took a step nearer to me, smirk widening. "She's not been to me room, if that's what you're thinking."

Felt fire encompass my innards. No. That was NOT what I was thinking. However. Now I am.

"Well, what has she done?" I squeaked. Oh god. Regain control, Jimmy.

I quickly cleared my throat.

"She's snuck a few kisses, made a few comments—nothing totally out of order." My jaw dropped.

_Snuck a few kisses? Nothing out of order?!_

I could have breathed fire.

"Oh, that is it. She's done for," I growled, turning to leave.

"Oi—wait! Where you going?" he called.

"To bed."

"Not just yet, I want to speak with you."

Felt stomach churn. Talk? Us? Now? With my love glaringly present?

No.

"Tomorrow," I promised, before opening the door and escaping inside.

Must now concoct a plan to destroy Stella.

Feb 3

12:51 pm

Have put 'Operation: Destroy Stella' on hold, as have just realized I have more pressing matters at hand.

I told Thomas I was going to talk to him tonight. About things.

Bullocks.

3:15 pm

Tonight is going to be catastrophic. How will I be able to speak freely? My heart is a shambles. I can barely eat (except for the tidbits Mrs. Patmore keeps feeding me, bless her) and my thoughts are scattered far and beyond.

And then, of course, there's the fact that Thomas is disgustingly intuitive, and will probably suss out that I'm madly in love with him and that it's destroying my life.

Well. Perhaps I'm not _madly_ in love with him. Just…very fond in a love-centric manner.

Bullocks.

5:11 pm

Love Anna, but is a very bold creature.

Was in the servants' hall, when she came in, Bates and sewing kit in tow.

"Hello, Jimmy," she smiled, settling herself down.

"I'm going to fetch some tea. Can I get you anything?" Bates asked her, still standing.

"No thank you," she said warmly, as he began hobbling away.

My nerves prickled. "No, I wouldn't like anything either. But _thank you_ for asking, Mr. Bates," I grinned through sharp teeth.

He threw a glare my way before continuing onward.

Avoided Anna's stern gaze. "What?" I mumbled.

"You know what," she warned, beginning her task at hand. Could feel her eyes glancing to me as she began threading a needle. "So, how is…everything?"

Shrugged. "Alright, I suppose."

"Oh? Did you discover if you're in love after all, then?"

Almost fell out of my seat at her forwardness.

She actually was asking me about love in the middle of the day? In public?

"I did, yes, but I'd best prefer not to speak on it," I said quickly, flushing. I immediately stood up from me chair.

Her grin revealed that she was fighting back laughter. "I see. Sorry."

I paused. "But thank you for asking, Anna," I smiled, before leaving the scene as quickly as I could.

How embarrassing.

11:59 pm

Life has gotten more embarrassing.

Definitely more embarrassing.

I absolutely hate myself.

Was the end of the day, so I headed outside, finding Thomas sat down and bundled up, cigarette already half smoked.

"Thomas," I greeted, sitting beside him.

"Jimmy," he returned, eyeing me. "Haven't seen you much today. Or heard anything about you. Seems you've been on good behavior, hiding under the radar, like."

"Has Mr. Carson said?"

"More or less," he smirked.

"Delightful."

Awkward pause. Kept my eyes firmly away from his.

"Well, then. How are you?" He was pressing me to talk. Would have been touched if I wasn't so terrified to speak.

"Jolly splendid."

"Good to hear."

Another awkward silence.

Must not look at him. Or convey too much emotion in my voice. Or think too many—

"Tell me," he suddenly demanded, interrupting my thoughts. "Tell me what's wrong. You're even more off today. If that's possible." A smile through the smoke.

I blanched slightly. "Oh, well. I'm fine." I refused to meet his eyes.

"You said you'd tell me tonight."

"There's nothing to tell, Thomas."

"See, I'm not sure if I believe you. You're out of sorts—you're all jittery and sweaty." (Sweaty?) "And you won't look at me. Not even a glance."

"Well—"

"You're hiding something," he accused, stubbing out his cigarette and focusing his attentions to me. "Tell me. What are you hiding that's got you so fussed?"

Inwardly shrieked. Shit! He was going to figure it out! He was going to discover my obsessive and repulsive love for him and then our friendship will be destroyed and he will cast me off and I will spend the rest of my life alone and unloved, harboring feelings for a snotty and guarded under-butler MAN with a penchant for smoke and hatred!

Must hide feelings. Must hide feelings. Must hide feelings.

"I'm not hiding anything!"

"Yes you are—what is it?!"

"Nothing!"

"Just say it!"

"No!"

"TELL ME NOW. WHAT'S THE BLOODY MATTER WITH YOU?!"

"I'm constipated!" I suddenly squawked, flushed and terrified.

Wait.

What?

_What?_

(New Year's resolution: Stop. Speaking. Before. Thinking.)

Did I just…tell the man that I love…that I'm constipated?

Maybe I should have just revealed my feelings.

Thomas stared at me. " I beg your pardon?" he managed.

Even if I wanted to reply, I couldn't. My voice had run away, cowering in shame.

All I could do was stare back at him in horror, jaw dropped and speechless. How the hell do I fix this? Should I laugh? Should I run away? Should I _walk_ away? Should I pretend I'd never said anything?

Before I could decide on a course of action, Thomas suddenly erupted in laughter, his smile bursting off his face with each chortle, his eyes shut, head thrown back. Had never seen him like this, relaxed and happy, completely unreserved and joyous.

For one solitary moment, I dared to stare at him, heart warm. Did not know Thomas could laugh. If it wasn't for the fact he were doubled up due to the fact he believed me to be severely constipated, it would have been a real marker in our relationship, and one I would have cherished.

As it happened….I only wanted to leave the scene. And as quickly as possible.

"Well, I best be off," I could barely manage, half of my voice still hiding.

"Wait, wait," he coughed through his laughter. He attempted to clear all traces of amusement out of his throat. "Right, well. Did you…" Could feel him struggling to keep all snarky and teasing comments at bay. "…want me to ask Mrs. Patmore to make you something with figs in it?"

This conversation needed to end.

"I'm fine thank you," I said hurriedly, feeling myself slowly transforming into a lobster. (Luckily, me mum always said how well I wore a blush) "But I really should be off to bed." I began to walk to the door as fast as I could.

Heard him burst into another fit of laughter. The bastard. "I hope everything…works out for you." The sentence ended in hysterics.

Narrowed my eyes in response, and marched the remaining steps to the door, flinging it open and fleeing.

I don't mean to be rude, Diary, but Thomas is an ugly laugher. No wonder he never does it. It does not befit him.

Am now in me room, wondering how on earth I've survived life this far when I am constantly making such a fool of myself.

…

Did I just hear a knock? Is someone at my door?

Feb 4

12:02 am

Was my Thomas.

My opened door revealed him, all bashful smile and sorry eyes as he clutched his hat in his hands, his hair moist from the flecks of icy snow that had been drifting downward outside. His cheeks were lightly tinged with pink, as was the end of his nose, and his lips were as beautifully red as always.

God, I wish he were hideous.

"I shouldn't have laughed at you," he said with a guilty smile, skipping any greeting. "I'm sorry. Are you honestly alright?"

My heart exploded.

He felt bad? Thomas Barrow felt bad? For teasing me? He stopped laughing, thought about me, followed me upstairs, and apologized for teasing me about being constipated? He did this for me?

I am so in love with this man.

"I'm fine, I swear," I smiled, ducking my head, afraid he would be able to see my absolute adoration.

A serene silence settled momentarily between us, and I could almost feel his reciprocated smile. Was lovely, in every sense of the word.

"Is that really what it is, then? The reason you've been acting so bloody peculiar?" he asked, voice on the verge of doubt.

I paused, finding myself at a crossroads. What was the best way to respond?

Without another thought, I plunged onward with the first answer my instincts supplied me. "Yes. It's only because of that. I expect I'll be feeling back to form by tomorrow, and all will be as it was."

"Hm," Thomas nodded, arms bracing him on either side of my doorframe, head bent in thoughtful contemplation. "So you'll be back to being a tosser?" he asked, looking up, eyes amused.

Hid my instinctual smile as I smacked him in the ribs. "You're a fine one to talk."

He laughed, taking a step back. "Goodnight, James," he winked, before turning and walking away.

"'Night, Barrow!" I called, my smile painting my words.

Think perhaps he is the best man on earth. In history, even.

Love him.

6:07 am

Is it possible to be more in love after you've already fallen in love?

8:00 am

Absolutely must avoid Thomas today. After last night, my heart is even more corrupt for love of him.

11:51 am

Has been very hard avoiding Thomas. Saw him in the hallway and he flashed me the most glorious grin I've ever seen before catching up to a very flustered Carson (Lady Mary can't find her hat).

Then, after breakfast, when Alfred was boasting about how tall he was, Thomas scolded him for not reporting to Mr. Carson like he'd been told to earlier, and said height was only something dim people bragged about. Was so authoritative and stern, I just wanted to—

No.

Must avoid him. Must crush this unwanted love.

I am not a victim to my feelings!

12:33 pm

Have succumbed to the fact that I may indeed be a victim to my feelings, so have been sneaking food out of the kitchens for comfort.

Must stop for do not want to lose my figure, but it's my only solace in these dark times. Wish I could confide in Daisy, but today she asked me if I've taken me "girl" out anywhere special yet, and cannot bring myself to deal with her in a patient manner. Would most likely end up making her cry.

5:48 pm

Why did I tell Thomas that things would be back to normal tonight? He's been smiling at me all day, and it's tearing my soul to pieces.

Now the pieces are all on the floor and I'm so terrified that he'll happen upon one, pick it up, and inspect the fractured remains of my love for him—and then all hope will be lost.

What do I do, Diary? Should I go to him tonight and risk our friendship? Hide from him and still risk our friendship?

8:22 pm

Am so utterly brilliant. Have just asked Carson if he needs any extra silver polished tonight.

"Why, James. I must admit I am impressed by the work ethic you've displayed over the past couple of months. I'll be sure to keep it in mind for the future," he nearly grinned, leading me to the largest closet of dusty silver I'd ever seen.

Am terribly excited though. Officially have an excuse to avoid Thomas tonight!

10:10 pm

After our supper, Thomas came up to me, pulling his pack of cigarettes out from his jacket.

"Care for some fresh air?" he asked with a little smile, inclining his head towards the door.

My emotions puked. Why am I avoiding him, again?

"Er—well, I can't." His face instantly fell. "Carson's got me polishing the silver."

A look of confusion covered his face. "He never. We don't need anything polished, not for tomorrow, surely. I'll speak with him—"

"No!" I caught his arm as he made to leave. "No, it's best as is. I could use some points in his book. We'll chat tomorrow." I swallowed, noting the faint disappointment in his eyes. "I promise."

He inspected me as any hint of expression drained from his face, leaving only his typical formal indifference. "It's no bother to me," he shrugged. "Make sure to do a good job of it tonight. I want to see my face in those spoons." A twist of a smile followed the words, and before I could change my mind (because honestly—polishing silver instead of a spending a night chatting away with that? Really?) he left.

Am now dreading the night.

Feb 5

7:01 am

Am so bloody tired.

9:19 am

Must look absolutely atrocious today, as Mrs. Hughes just came up to me, eyes very concerned.

"You feeling quite alright, James?"

"Yes, Mrs. Hughes."

"I know you've been ill recently. And Mr. Barrow mentioned that you've not been having the speediest recovery." Did he now?

"I'm much better now. Thank you for your concern."

Her eyes looked less than trusting, but she nodded all the same, allowing me to walk on.

So, I've basically been told that I'm ugly by Mrs. Hughes.

11:49 am

Had a moment of weakness.

Was feeling very distraught (Daisy AND Anna both asked me if I was feeling sickly after Mrs. Hughes—what the hell?) so took a moment to hide in the hall, in the darkest corner by the larder.

And, of course, Thomas spotted me.

"Don't you have any work to do, James?" he asked authoritatively, striding up to me.

Buried my face in my chest, arms tightly folded. "Not at the moment, no."

A pause. "What's wrong?" His voice was just on the brink of concern. But not quite.

"Do I look ugly today?" I asked, heart split asunder, lifting my pathetic (and apparently ghastly) face to stare at his barely-chipped-away icy exterior. He always has such control over his features.

Both eyebrows raised. "Is this what you're sulking about?"

I nodded.

He didn't attempt to hide the roll of his eyes. "Stop fussing. Get back to work."

What a poet.

Feeling even worse, I sighed and began making my way to the kitchens.

"Jimmy," he suddenly called.

Stopped, weary to turn around. "Yes?"

"You're many things. But never ugly." Without another word, he swept past me in a flash.

I think I'm even more in love.

11:21 pm

I'm 99% sure that all of the world's suffering has been collected and thrown on me.

Had been debating whether or not to visit Thomas tonight, when he came up to me before supper, saving me from Molesley (apparently, he's very good knitting and feels the need to explain his talents in great detail).

"A word, James," he said sternly, gesturing to Carson's office.

What on earth?

Conscious of the eyes surrounding me, I faked a grimace and stormed onward in a huff. What was this all about? Was he going to corner me about my feelings? Oh please god no.

Upon entering Carson's office, Thomas quickly followed, closing the door behind him. He turned to look at me, full attention.

"Hello," I smiled, unable to resist.

"Hello," came the charmingly smarmy reply.

Bit my cheeks to keep from my grin widening, and I looked down at my feet, painfully aware of how alone we were. And how absolutely stunning he looked against a wall.

"I'm afraid we can't have our little chat tonight."

Blinked. "What? Why?"

"I've promised myself to Mrs. Hughes. She needs a bit of help with the preparation for Lady Grantham's guest."

"Oh. I see." Felt a solid rock of disappointment settle in my stomach.

"Didn't think I'd get a chance to tell you, so I wanted to pull you aside. You know, so you wouldn't freeze your pretty hair off outside, waiting for me." Smirk.

… Pretty hair? My god. This man.

"You're so lovely," I blurted out, unable to stop the surge of feelings.

Shit.

Immediately, his teasing smile stiffened. We stared at each other, me with fear in my eyes, him with discomfort.

"Right," he finally said, opening the door for me. "Be off, now."

Left, ducking my head in shame.

Am now up in me room, eating my feelings. (I've stolen a bit of cake, bread, and tart from the kitchen. I do not regret my actions.)

Feb 6

6:43 am

Woke up with bread crumbs crusted to my face and mangled heart.

Had a dream about Thomas. He was having tea with Carson and the Dowager, but they were in a meadow. And Thomas had no shirt. There were butterflies and flowers all abound, and they seemed to be having the most splendid conversation under a setting sun. And Thomas had no shirt. I must say, the sunset really compliments him, its bursts of blazing light giving life to his cold and translucent skin. He was bloody gorgeous, sipping his tea next to the Dowager. Absolutely gorgeous. Did I mention he had no shirt? Was such a lovely dream…

My life is such a mess.

9:37 am

Cannot avoid Thomas any longer. Do not care if I'm risking revealing my feelings.

Was watching him all through breakfast, mesmerized by his smooth movements, stern lips, and cutting eyes, and couldn't help but think on me dream as he sipped tea and exchanged courtesies with Carson. Saw him chat with O'Brien and Mrs. Hughes as well, and felt a stark loneliness, feeling ever so separate from him.

Do not wish to be separated from him any longer.

I don't care anymore, Diary. I love him. I love that man. I do. I hate that I do, he will hate that I do, and it will most likely all end in a terrible, fiery explosion of shattered hearts, but do not care. I love him. Is my best mate.

Cannot keep hiding forever.

No.

I'm done hiding.

9:50 am

He was just talking to Stella. Saw them out of the corner of me eye while Mrs. Patmore was clucking about some cake she seemed to misplace.

I absolutely need to get rid of the bitch.

10:21 am

Desperate times call for desperate measures.

Sat down by Alfred in the servants' hall. "Alfred," I greeted.

He looked up from his plate of biscuits, teacup poised in hand. "Hello, Jimmy."

Keeping a steady breath to maintain even blood pressure, I forced a smile onto my face. "I was wondering… How are things with Stella?" Suppressed a grimace.

Unbeknownst to my obvious distaste, his eyes darkened, and he set down his cup. "Not terrible. But she's still caught up in Mr. Barrow."

"Yes, I've noticed," I said flatly, keeping any unwanted visuals at bay. "And it's bloody wrong, that's what it is. That man, just taking…your girl," I struggled. Fight the good fight, Jimmy. Keep it up.

He nodded enthusiastically. "Innit? But what can be done about it?"

"Give her all you've got, m'boy. Send her love poems and show her your muscles" (like he has any) "and flirt like you've never flirted before—and I mean that, actually flirt like you never have before. Your flirting is atrocious."

His eyes widened as he nodded along with my words, soaking in the knowledge I was kindly bestowing upon him. "But will it work?"

"Of course," I said simply, standing up. "It bloody has to."

3:59 pm

Cornered Stella after tea. Because I am a champion.

"Stella," I smiled warmly, resisting the urge to push her over.

"Jimmy," she greeted with a wide grin. "Always a pleasure to see you."

"I'm sure," I grinned through my teeth. "Stella darling, do you remember when you asked me about Ivy and Mr. Barrow? Because you fancied him?"

Her grin widened. "How could I forget? Can't say you proved very helpful though..."

"Indeed. Well, that's why I'm here. To help you."

"Oh?" she inquired, intrigued.

"You see, Stella," I said, urging her to sit down as I took my own seat. She settled in the chair next to me, brow furrowing. "It's not going to work out with you and Mr. Barrow."

She blinked, obviously taken aback. "Why do you say that?" Um.

I said the first thing that sprung to mind. "Because. He's an alcoholic."

"Oh." Stella shrugged, unaffected. "So's me granddad. Nothing I can't handle, there."

Oh, how nice, what a happy family. Now what?

"And a drug addict," I added immediately.

Her eyes widened. A-hah! I'd hit a nerve. "You what?" she asked, surveying me. "I've never seen nothing suggesting such. Not once." Her tone was suspicious.

Avoiding the obvious answer of, 'That's because you're a dumb whore,' I chose to play the game with control, and neatly folded my hands in my lap, looking up at her with pained unease. "Well, just between me and you…" I leaned closer, my fingers still laced together in professional concern, "the other day I saw him sniffing some cleaning solution."

She jumped back, as if she'd been jabbed with a hot poker. "What?" she gasped. Oh, Stella. Such a naïve little thing.

I nodded tragically. "Yes." I added a bitten lip to my display. "And he was foaming at the mouth."

" _Foaming at the mouth_?" Her hand shot up to her own. "Are you quite sure?"

"So very quite."

Obviously reeling from the load of rubbish I'd just poured down her throat, she leaned back in her chair, eyes distressed, her hands moving to grip her stomach. "I-I can't believe it! I never would have guessed! … Mr. Barrow? Really?" she asked incredulously, searching my eyes for assurance.

Nodded once more. (Haha, silly bitch.) "The only reason I'm relaying this information is because I'm trying to look out for you," I said with concern. "Of course, you best keep this information to yourself. You know how them drug addicts are. He could kill you if he learns of your betrayal."

She nodded, eyes far away, jaw still dropped.

"And…" Oh, hell. Why not. "I know Alfred is such a…good…chap. And he's quite keen on you. Why not go with him?"

At this, her eyes refocused. "Alfred?"

"Oh, yes. I know you two have a bit of a history… Surely you miss him…in some way? After all, he is very tall."

She blinked. "I suppose he is quite tall…"

"Oh, so very tall. Imagine how well he could clean the gutters!"

She nodded, seemingly lost in thought. "It would come in handy, wouldn't it?"

"If there's anything you can't reach, he's there. And he could clean the ceilings, as well," I said mindfully, giving her a practical look.

"Yes…he could, couldn't he?"

Hid my triumphant smile. She was like putty in my hands. "It's just something to think about," I concluded, standing up.

Snapping out of her reverie, she looked up at me, shooting a smile. "Yes. Thank you, Jimmy."

"Anytime." Bitch.

Feel so very triumphant.

4:10 pm

Mrs. Hughes has redeemed herself.

"Well, you're looking a sight better than you did yesterday," she smiled, passing me in the hall.

"I am?" I asked happily, forgetting myself.

"Certainly. A night's rest did you good."

Love her again.

Feb 7

12:34 am

Have never felt so happy and so miserable at the same time. Just came back from a night walk with Thomas.

Had made sure to meet him outside after we'd all been dismissed to bed, fearing another obstacle.

"Well, hello," I greeted, walking up to the pillar of smoke.

"There he is," he teased, eyes shifting from the sky, to me, then back to the sky. "It's a lovely night." Smoke billowed from his lips, slowly reaching for the stars. His eyes remained fixed upward.

"It is," I said quietly, eyes fixed on him.

He turned to me, a hint of a smile present. "You having a better day, then? Feeling a little less ugly?"

Blushed and looked away. "I was having a difficult time. Being called ugly didn't help matters any."

"Who called you ugly?"

"Well." Cleared my throat. "Nobody. But they implied it!" I added before he could protest.

He didn't look impressed. "Who implied it?"

"… Mrs. Hughes. And Anna. And Daisy."

"Oh, please!" he said, exasperated.

"You wouldn't understand," I sniffed.

"No. I wouldn't." Exhale, smoke. "Speaking of, I think Stella has begun to think I'm ugly meself." Eh?

Inwardly perked the tiniest bit. "Oh? And why do you say that?"

"She's been avoiding me all day, shooting me nasty glances. If I didn't know any better, I'd think she has it out for me."

"Oh, I'm sure that isn't the case. Shall we walk on?" I asked hurriedly, voice a bit higher than usual. Must never let Thomas know that I've told Stella he's an addict. Would not go over well.

He studied me, cigarette dangling between his lips, eyes suspicious beneath his cap. Oh god. He was on to me. He was going to press me for information and discover I called him a drug addict because I hate Stella because I love him. "Alright," he suddenly said, tossing his cigarette to the ground. "Let's get on, then."

Relief. Oh, thank the lord. "Splendid."

He cocked his head back, looking over to me. "Shall we?" he then asked, nodding toward the empty expanse of moonlit land before us.

"Most definitely," I beamed, stepping into stride with him.

Had such a lovely time, Diary. Just like before. Was perfect.

Only wish that I was not in love with him—then it would have been more perfect. Is hard to smile with someone you know can never be yours. Creates as much pain as it does pleasure, leaving you warm and full of open wounds.

I just wish he wasn't so bloody beautiful.

And so bloody perfect.

6:31 am

Still thinking about how perfect last night was. And how perfect Thomas is. And how much I hate him for it.

Still cannot believe that I'm in love with a man, especially one like Thomas.

1:11 pm

Life is progressing.

"I've written a love letter to Stella," Alfred said eagerly while we were in the kitchen. "I told her she were the only meal I needed during the day, and the only bed I needed to sleep on during the night."

Was quite possibly the most unromantic thing I've ever heard in my life, but couldn't help but feel a little fondness—Alfred was actually trying. Poorly, but he was trying.

"How kind, Alfred," I almost smiled.

"I know. She won't be able to resist me now. Now that she knows she can have the full package."

Did I say I was feeling fond? Just kidding. "Right. Well, I'm glad things are looking up for you," I said dryly, causing Daisy to giggle. Shot a smile her way.

"Benjamin's wrote me a letter," Ivy blushed as she rolled out a sheet of dough. "Said I were the most beautiful girl in all the world."

"That's lovely," Daisy smiled.

"That's _enough_ ," Mrs. Patmore clipped, shooting a stern eye.

Am feeling optimistic. I do hope that Stella is dumb enough to fall for Alfred. It'll shut him up and leave Thomas free for good.

5:30 pm

Hm. Been thinking. I wonder if writing a love letter is a good idea? I mean, since it seems to be such a popular thing to do…

5:32 pm

No. Could never write Thomas a love letter. He probably wouldn't even read it. Just whip out his lighter, set it aflame, and watch it burn before his cold, dead eyes.

No, will never write a love letter to Thomas.

Feb 8

12:12 am

Life is a struggle, Diary. Want to stay in Thomas' life, but I need to work on me self-control. Or I am going to destroy us.

Was outside with Thomas, chatting about Carson.

"He's been in a right state the past couple weeks. Fussing about Lady Mary every minute of the day, leaving no room for a practical thought. It's bloody exhausting, with me having to pick up the slack," he muttered between smoke-tinged lips.

"Can anything be done about it? Have Mrs. Hughes give him a talking to?" I suggested.

He snorted. "Not likely. The only thing that'll ease him up is if her baby walks out of her right this minute, perfectly intact, its mother in an even better state."

"I don't suppose we could arrange that?"

A light laugh. "I'm capable of many things, but not that. Yet," he added with a teasing smirk.

Felt my stomach and skin prickle in the funniest way. I'm sure Thomas is capable of many, many things indeed.

Oh lord, Jimmy. Control yourself.

Was just about to say something neutral (and get me bloody mind off of his abilities and the still-present image of him shirtless, courtesy of my dream) when he suddenly sneezed, sending his cigarette flying to the ground.

"Oh, bless you," I smiled, refusing to acknowledge how adorable a sneezing Thomas is. (Did I say adorable? I meant commonplace.)

He shot me a look. "Yeah, yeah." His eyes then fixed on the ground around him. "Now where's me fag gone?"

"I think you may have dropped it," I said, amused, as I watched him sink to the ground, hands exploring the earth.

Thomas Barrow, crawling on the dirty ground for a half-lit cigarette?

Addictions, indeed.

"No such luck?" I asked at the prolonged silence. Looked over to where he were fumbling around, and was met with the full view of him bent over, bum presented perfectly in my direction. (Which, really, was staring at _me_.)

Was momentarily distracted, eyes glued to his—may I say, quite fetching—posterior.

"No, I can't seem to find it," I heard him say, but I had other matters on me mind. "Do you see it? Jimmy? JIMMY."

Upon hearing my name repeated, I whipped my eyes away from his pleasant backside to his face….which was currently peering back at me, still bent-over.

"What are you looking at?" Obvious amusement peppered his tone.

Ohmylord.

I've been caught in the act.

Ohmylord.

There was only one way to get out of this.

"Nothing," I cleverly replied.

He straightened up, admitting defeat in his search, a smug grin on his face. "Were you just…staring at m—"

"I wasn't staring at anything, Thomas, stop insinuating that I was staring at things!" I said in a shrill voice, praying a tree would fall on me.

His grin only widened at my reaction, before it flickered and dashed away. Back to ice. "Well, can't find the cigarette, so I think I'll take it as a sign to go to bed. Goodnight, Jimmy."

"Goodnight, Thomas," I said through hot cheeks.

I obviously chased him away because I am a creepy and invasive person.

The world is hideous.

So I took some pie from the kitchen.

6:41 am

Oh, bless this morning!

Was getting ready for the day, feeling rather nasty, when I heard a knock on me door. Surprised, I went to answer it, shirt half-done.

Was Thomas.

"Good morning," he said easily.

"Morning," I smiled breathlessly, waking up instantly.

"Am just about to walk down. Was wondering if you're ready yet, and if you'd care to join me?" he asked casually, hands in pockets, head tilted slightly with enquiry.

My heart erupted like a volcano.

"Of course," I immediately replied, hurryingly doing up me buttons. "I'm ready right now!" I exclaimed, darting around my room, slipping into me shoes as I fumbled to put on me jacket.

Did I do my hair?

Oh, who cares?!

In a matter of seconds, I was passable. "Ready," I said proudly, with a clean grin.

He gave me a once over, eyebrow raised. "You can go on your own, if you prefer to finish up fixing yourself. I were only asking to be friendly."

"Are you saying I look bad?!"

"Yes." He shot me a wide smile as I gasped in horror. "But still better than the whole lot of the staff. And the upstairs, too. C'mon, then."

Was debating on the kindness of that statement while I quickly shut the door to my room and caught up to him.

"Your hair looks different," he commented naturally, glancing over at me. "Much less…styled. I like it."

Almost bit through my lip to suppress my singing-to-the-heavens grin as we proceeded down the stairs.

Am throwing away all hair product, and am never styling my hair again.

11:10 am

"He's smiling again," Daisy teased, bustling around me as I entered the kitchen. Felt a blush coming. Why do I always get harassed in this household?

"Ohhh, look at that. I think I'm going to start making bets on your mood, the way it changes," Mrs. Patmore half-laughed, giving a shake of the head as she sprinkled sugar on some canapés.

"I don't know what you mean, Mrs. Patmore. I'm always in a jolly mood," I smiled.

"You have been acting different," Alfred commented, also entering the kitchen.

"He's got a girl," Daisy explained, a mischievous smile on her face. Could I beat her up? Could I get away with that?

"I do not," I said hotly, avoiding every eye pointed in my direction.

"He won't tell us who," Ivy smiled, eyes alight.

Alfred smirked. "As long as she's not me Stella, I don't mind much." Of course. Because it's all about you.

Was almost tempted to tell him it _was_ Stella—just out of spite—but decided against it. Thomas would probably box me ears.

"My affairs is my affairs," I said with an air of mystery, and, with Alfred not far behind, took the tea tray upstairs.

Feb 9

12:00 am

Had another lovely, poison-arrows-in-the-heart night with Thomas. We walked around the courtyards, and at one point, came upon a nasty patch of ice.

"Of course, what more could you expect," I continued mid-conversation, stepping on the smooth surface unknowingly. "He _is_ second footma—ARGH!" I screamed, almost flying up into the air as gravity and ice laughed in unison.

"Oi, steady there," came Thomas' solid voice, arms reaching out to my flailing ones.

It was a wonder I managed to stay on my feet.

Terrified, I gripped his arms, fearing any movement would send me flying. "I hate ice," I muttered through clenched teeth, wondering how on earth I'd managed to walk this far onto it.

Felt him laugh. "I can see that," he mused, "but it won't do you any good waiting for it to melt, so come on." Surprisingly gently, he goaded me forward, hands reassuringly pressed into my elbows as I gripped his forearms.

Began feeling a sense of triumph as we slowly made our way to the edge of the death pit, before I then looked up at him, almost excitedly.

His eyes were averted downward, watching my feet, and I realized I was close enough to count his eyelashes. I lost myself as I watched him, my feet barely trudging along now as my eyes soaked into the strands of loosened ebony hair peeking out from under his cap. And then…there were those lips. Those damn, bloody lips that had started all this trouble.

Upon reaching dry land, Thomas looked up and met my stare, an easy, almost cocky, smile playing on those aforementioned ruby jewels. "There you are, safe and sound. Thanks to me." He let go of my arms, thinking nothing of it, before turning round to continue our walk.

Stared after him, nearly breathless and utterly heartsick. "Coming," I found myself calling faintly when he shot a glance back at me.

Now if only _he_ were coming.

DAMMIT, JIMMY. NO.

I need help.

Feb 12

9:21 pm

Have been having a very nice couple of days.

Went to the village with Daisy today to pick up something for Mrs. Patmore, and ran into some kindly villagers who told us we were a sweet young couple. Made Daisy blush and me laugh, but was very sweet. I expect they found me very handsome.

Alfred has been spending more time with Stella, and from what I see, it seems to be going rather well. Yesterday I saw them speaking in the servants' hall while I were playing piano, and she kept swatting at him with her hands as all dumb girls do when they like a boy. Is a very good sign and he's been, thankfully, very occupied.

Have also been eating my feelings a little less, as me livery's been a little snug lately. Have made a promise to stop stealing food from the kitchens for two reasons:

Is dishonest and wrong.

Mrs. Patmore's been noticing.

Everybody else is jolly good as well. Bates made a smart comment at me when I said I didn't like ugly people at dinner today, and Anna cast stern glances at us both. So really, all is well and normal.

Thomas has been very sweet and devious, as usual. He's been running about, trying to keep up with Mr. Carson's nervous-Lady-Mary-baby energy. Am not sure if they're getting much accomplished, but they certainly appear to be.

Cannot stop thinking about Thomas, Diary. Is disruptive and tragic and is ruining my life. But cannot stop. Am ridden with so many feelings about the whole affair, as do not understand why I can no longer carry a conversation with him without feeling overwhelmed with affections and a burning desire to pet him. Feel that I am being a very bad friend, but is it really so terrible to wonder what he looks like naked? I don't mean nothing by it, it's just friendly curiosity.

Still.

Must not allow my thoughts to wander to such foreboding territories. Is one thing to be in love, is another to think such illicit and punishable thoughts. Will not have relations with Thomas. Will never. Never, ever. Not even if he begged me to. Not even if he were on his knees—NOPE, actually, NO, I best not conjure up that image.

Must turn off brain.

Feb 13

12:21 am

Oh lord.

Met Thomas at our usual spot.

"How are you today?" he enquired, facing me.

"Very flexible," I answered, without thinking. GODDAMMIT, JIMMY.

I received a blank stare. "What?"

"My schedule is very flexible," I immediately said in a strangled voice. "So, I've plenty of time to walk tonight. Good news, yes?" Kill me now. Kill me now.

A slight nod. "I see. Well, then. Let us walk." Could feel him peering at me through his peripherals.

My eyes remained fixed on the ground as he pulled a cigarette from the pack.

"You know what's coming up?" Thomas suddenly asked, tucking the package of cigarettes back in his jacket.

"What?"

A flick of the lighter, an inhale, then billows of smoke erupted from a smirk. "Valentine's Day."

My muscles clenched. Oh god. Why was he mentioning this?

"Oh?" I said inquisitively, averting my face to the heavens.

"Yep." Inhale. "So. Is there anybody special in your life?" he asked, but his tone dripped with tease as he inspected me over his cigarette.

Willed my blush away as I walked, sorting through a list of possible answers. Must not reveal feelings. Have gone this far without him suspecting me, must continue onward.

"No, I don't fancy people, much," I said simply, giving a shrug of the shoulders. "Seems like a waste of time." There. That'll fool him.

"I agree." What? "Don't understand why anyone would waste their time thinking about anybody else when it's hard enough to think for yourself." What? No. No, Thomas, you're wrong. Is lovely to think about somebody else. Is a beautiful thing to find kinship in another soul—is the only reason the flowers bloom and the moon comes out and casts such beautiful and mournful shadows!

Besides. He used to think of me. Back when he thought kissing people in their sleep was a fun thing to do. (why must people change?)

"Well, I wouldn't say that," I said, staring at him.

He shrugged. "Differences in opinion, I suppose." Felt sick. (So he doesn't love me, after all?) He then turned to me, eyes suddenly serious. "Jimmy. I think friendship is more important than anything. I think what we have, now, is what matters. Anything else… Is foolish."

Wanted to vomit on him.

He couldn't have been more plain as day. He was rejecting me. He must have sussed my feelings (but how?) and he's rejected me. All the love that I felt, all the unknowing adoration…to waste.

All hope is lost.

Shit.

"I quite agree," my hollowed out voice said. "And I don't expect to celebrate Valentine's Day."

He nodded approvingly before we walked on.

Am debating now. Should I throw myself off of a cliff now or later?

3:44 pm

Hate the staff. Hate how happy they all bloody are.

"Tomorrow's Valentine's Day. Benjamin says he's got a surprise for me," Ivy smiled.

Mrs. Patmore shot her a warning glare.

"I've got a surprise for Stella, meself. I'm going to take her to the pictures, and I've written her a love poem."

Scoffed. "A love poem?" I repeated, giving him a look. "Haven't you already done that?"

He raised his chin indignantly. "No. I wrote her a _letter_ before—this is a poem. It's different. In a poem, I can express myself with fine sentiments. Since I'm not very good with words—" (no way) "—I've written them out instead, in a pretty way, which should work well, I hope," he said, adjusting his shirt.

Rolled my eyes as I began to make my leave. "Can't imagine they're much better written on paper."

Hate love. And I hate tomorrow.

Am miserably depressed.

Love is evil.

9:57 pm

Sought Thomas out after Carson dismissed us for bed.

"I'm going to stay in tonight," I said, avoiding his heartlessly rejecting gaze.

"Feeling alright?"

"Yes, fine. I'm just a bit tired, and it's ever so cold outside today. Thought it'd be nice to have a bit of time to meself."

He nodded, searching my features with a calm regard. "Alright. I'll see you tomorrow, then. Happy Valentines' Day," he reminded cheekily, before getting up and walking away.

Happy?

Have never heard the word.

10:12 pm

Think it's absolutely ridiculous that Alfred is writing Stella a love poem. Who writes love poems? Is sad and pathetic. And embarrassing.

Alfred is such a stain.

10:15 pm

Cannot even imagine what one would put in said love poem. "Roses are red, violets are blue?" I mean, really. It's the silliest idea.

10:19 pm

How would one even start it? And where would they leave it? Just slip it under the door? Leave it under his pillow? Er—I mean— _her_ pillow. A pillow.

10:21 pm

Am not going to write Thomas a love poem for Valentine's Day. We've already agreed not to celebrate it.

10:22 pm

It wouldn't make him love me, suddenly. It wouldn't make him swoon, just because I've put into words the beautiful feelings I feel….

It wouldn't work.

…

Would it?

Feb 14

12:49 pm

Have written Thomas a love poem.

I've been working on it for two hours. This is what I have so far:

_Thomas, will you fix my clock?_

_Thomas, would you like my cock?_

Feel that it is, perhaps, too forward. And not very romantic.

Besides, do not wish to imply anything sexual by it. I just could not find another word that rhymed with 'clock.' Could hardly say 'sock,' now could I?

1:34 am

Have written a new poem:

_I like you._

_I hope you like me, too._

Is it too short?

2:56 am

New poem:

_I really love your face._

_I want to kiss it all over the place._

_On every single space._

_And from line to line I'll trace_

_My love which won't erase_

_No matter how you chase_

_My kisses on your beautiful face._

There. Have already folded it up and everything. Am going to leave it under his pillow in the morning.

But must retire now. Am exhausted by my own superb creativity.

6:49 am

Have just left Thomas his poem. Wanted to leave a flower with it as well, but have realized all the flowers are dead in winter (much like my heart). Is now just the poem, which is a bit plain and less romantic, but is more genuine this way.

I didn't leave me name. Decided I do not want him to know that it's from me.

Not just yet.

Am only wanting to express my love in secret form because cannot express it any other way.

9:11 am

I think Mrs. Patmore has a sixth sense, too—like Thomas.

"You look like you've been up to something," she said when I entered the kitchen this morning.

Paled slightly. How did she…?

"I haven't been," I said quickly.

"He's probably planning something for his girl," Daisy and Ivy teased, giggling.

"I am not."

"Well, you should. Stella loved me poem," Alfred said with a wink.

"What? You gave it to her already? It's barely nine in the morning!"

He shrugged. "Didn't feel like waiting."

Alfred is such a dunce. Does not understand the ways of romance.

"Well, you both best keep your mind on the tasks at hand," Mrs. Patmore then said, spatula pointed at us. "Especially you, you sneaky devil," she said to me with an accusatory grin.

How does that woman know?

4:02 pm

Anna and Bates keep cuddling.

I know it's Valentine's day, but honestly.

Some of us have to eat.

5:11 pm

Feel warm inside.

Was passing by Mr. Carson's office, when I heard Mrs. Hughes gasp in surprise.

Attention piqued, I stopped, and slowly backed up, ear near to the door. Could hear them inside.

"Oh, Mr. Carson! How absolutely lovely!" she exclaimed.

Carson got Mrs. Hughes a gift? On Valentine's Day?

"Now, now. There's no need to get all bothered about it," he said, almost awkwardly, and I could practically feel his blush.

"Well, all the same, it's a very thoughtful gift—and a beautiful one, too. Thank you."

Heard Carson mumble one last, "Of course," before I heard Alfred calling for me.

I wonder what he gave her? Is very sweet. Always loved Carson and Mrs. Hughes, and if they love each other, even better!

Now, if only my own love life was so generous…

5:38 pm

Oh, Diary! Just spotted a small, heart-shaped pin on Mrs. Hughes' dress!

Carson, you devil.

6:11 pm

SOMEBODY LOVES ME.

SOMEBODY LOVES ME, DIARY.

Is probably some silly maid, like Stella, but no bother because SOMEBODY LOVES ME!

Just went up to my room to change for dinner, when I felt something beneath my foot upon entering my room. Bent down and saw that it was a tiny scrap of paper.

Curious, I picked it up and gently unfolded it. There were only one line, scribbled in a neat, scratched black ink.

' _The world is changed because you are made of ivory & gold.'_

I could die, Diary. I could absolutely die. Am utterly flattered. It is the most beautiful sentence I have ever heard in my entire life. And is, of course, true. My skin is of an ivory splendor, and my hair glows with golden rays. Whoever loves me has good taste.

I am loved, Diary! I'm loved!

And they've written the most beautiful thing in the world. To _me_.

Life may not be so tragic, after all.

8:10 pm

Have decided to carry around my Valentine. Is in my pocket, next to the pen Thomas gave me.

Love my treasures. Will always carry my treasures.

Feb 15

1:11 am

Am very near to distraught.

Met with Thomas tonight and we went on one of our walks. Despite the pain of rejection being fresh from the previous night, I was fuelled by the knowledge that he had to have discovered my poem by now.

And I was absolutely dying about his reaction.

Playing it smooth, I offered a casual, "Did you get any Valentines, then?" as we were passing under a weeping willow.

"I did, actually. Several."

Stopped in my tracks.

_Several?_

"What do you mean?"

"Just that."

"But—but who are they from?" I spluttered, aghast.

"Well I wouldn't know that, would I?"

"What did they say?" I demanded unblinkingly.

"One were about someone missing me, one were about my voice—funny, they chose that of all things, one were about the sun and stars and all that—" (how many were there?!) "—and then one were about my face." He chuckled. "I think that one was my favorite."

His face? That one was mine. Mine was his favorite?

Despite my previous surge of hostility, I couldn't help but feel a melted heart. I smiled before I could stop myself. "Really?" I asked, touched. DAMMIT, JIMMY. Could you be more obvious?! "I mean, oh! What a strange thing to write about! That person is odd." There.

His brow quirked, but he nodded all the same. "Yes. Very. Did you get any, then?"

"Yes," I grinned, sneaking my hand into my pocket to feel the small, folded bit of paper. "I got one. Just one," I said, shooting him a look. "But it were perfect."

"Perfect? My, my. What did it say?"

"Said, 'The world is changed because you are made of ivory and gold,'" I said proudly, unable to keep the sing-song out of my voice.

"Ah," he nodded. "Oscar Wilde."

"What?"

"That's a quote from Oscar Wilde. From his novel."

"Oh." Was slightly disappointed that it hadn't been concocted for me, purely. But only slightly. Was still very perfect. "It's beautiful," I said.

He nodded his agreement. "It is. Whoever wrote that must find you quite special."

We talked no more on the subject.

I wonder who could have written it?

But, more importantly, I wonder who the hell wrote each of those poems for Thomas.

Apparently he has a fan club. But who?

Feb 17

2:02 pm

Have been doing some detective work as of late. Have been trying to figure out who's secretly in love with Thomas.

"Do you still fancy Mr. Barrow?" I asked Ivy when we were alone in the kitchen.

She blushed. "Mr. Barrow? Why? Has he said something?" That's a yes.

"No," I said firmly. "But I do wonder where your loyalties lie." And I stalked out of the kitchen.

Ivy obviously wrote one of them.

Feb 19

12:31 am

Thomas scolded me tonight.

"I've been trying to figure out who wrote you those Valentines. Ivy's one of them, I discovered it the other day, but I can't figure out anybody else."

"You're doing what?" he asked, stopping.

"I'm figuring out who your secret admirers are."

"Why?"

"Because. We can't have everybody fawning over you, can we?" Felt the nerves prickling in me stomach.

"There are more important things to focus on, stop fussing about with that nonsense."

"You can't tell me what to do!"

"Have you figured out who your own admirer is?"

"What? No, why?"

"You'd think you'd want to," he said, obviously annoyed.

"I suspect it's just one of the maids."

He gave me a highly unimpressed narrow of the eyes. "You think a _maid_ quoted Oscar Wilde for you?"

Well, when he put it like that…

"Well, it's no matter. Whoever wrote it is absolutely stunning, but we need to address one matter at a time. And, judging from the clues before us, I also feel Stella most likely—"

"Just stop, Jimmy," Thomas cut in, tone hard. "Just stop thinking on it, and move on." He gave me one last reproachful glare before walking onward.

Felt put out, but followed anyway.

Who does he think he is?

6:25 am

Can you die from love? Can it actually split you apart, right down the middle, leaving you exposed and cold, for all the world to see?

Because I'm quite sure, Diary, that I fall a little bit more in love with Thomas every day, and there's so much love inside of me that I can no longer contain it.

He just came to my door, while I was still wiping sleep from me eyes.

"Thomas?" I stared, taken aback at the dressed-and-ready-to-go man before me.

"Good morning, sunshine," he smirked, taking in my disheveled appearance.

Oh god. I probably had drool encrusted to my face. Self-consciously wiping my hands over my chin, I attempted a smile.

"What you doing here? Shouldn't you be at Carson's backside?" I couldn't resist teasing.

Narrowed eyes sliced me. "Cheeky, cheeky," he said with a shake of the head. "I actually came to apologize for my harshness last night."

I stared. Thomas Barrow was apologizing _again_? That makes two this month! Was the sky falling?

"You can continue to stalk Stella, or whatever. It's none of my concern, and I shouldn't have been so quick to jump on you." Jump on me as you please, Thoma—DAMMIT, JIMMY. No. Control your thoughts!

Clearing my brain of pollution, I sent a sincere smile his way. "No apology necessary, Thomas. You were right. I shouldn't be bothering over such things. I just get so…focused, sometimes."

He nodded, barely disguising his smile. "I've noticed."

Ducked my head. "But thank you. Thank you for coming here and…saying it."

Another nod, and I looked up to see his eyes boring into me. "Sometimes I wonder if I should say things more often," he said quietly, eyes far away.

Felt my pulse quicken. "What do you mean?"

He remained lost in his gaze for only a moment longer before he blinked away any distance and smiled cordially. "Nothing. I don't mean anything. I'll see you downstairs."

Feel very confused. Why did he say that? Does he love me, too?

Who am I kidding.

Of course he doesn't.

11:09 pm

Had an early night with Thomas tonight since he's feeling pretty bushed as of late.

"I'm Carson's dog's body," he explained in a low tone as I walked him to his bedroom door.

"Not for long. One day you'll be butler, and you'll have all the minions. And then you can fire Alfred," I smiled.

He returned it. "That's your dream."

"It can be _our_ dream. One of many we'll have." Felt my smile falter as I realized the unintentional (intentional?) implications in my words. Dammit, Jimmy. Stop!

Am like a slobbering dog.

"Silly boy," he commented, opening his door. "We don't have time for dreams. Goodnight." His controlled eyes and even smile vanished with the click of the lock.

Hope that he doesn't believe that—that we've no time for dreams. We have all the time in the world. And any time we don't have, we'll make.

Love Thomas.

But am sick of loving Thomas.

Feb 21

4:44 pm

"Stella told me she's quite fond of me today," Alfred gushed, catching me in the hall.

My jaw set as I slid my hand through my glove. "How moving."

"I'm going to ask her to be me girl tonight. I think she'll say yes."

"Miraculous."

"And I have you to thank. You never gave up on us, Jimmy. Thank you."

I paused. Did Alfred…just say _thank you_?

First Thomas apologizes—TWICE—and now Alfred…is thanking me?

Am I high?

"Er—you're welcome," I managed, unsure of what to think.

He nodded. "And I'm sorry things didn't work out with you and her. Can't say I blame her, though. You're alright, but she were looking for a real man," he said proudly, puffing his twig chest.

Ok. Maybe the world is a little more normal than I'd suspected.

"Whatever helps you sleep, Alfred," I muttered, walking past him.

"What did you say?" I heard him call, but I couldn't care less.

Sometimes envision pushing Alfred down a well. Is such a lovely thought.

Feb 24

1:13 am

Has almost been a month since I've discovered my love for Thomas. Nothing has really changed between us—he's still infuriating and mocking and ridiculously charming and sweet. We still go on our walks, he still smokes his cigarettes, and I still get affronted whenever he speaks of Ivy or Stella.

All is the same, Diary. So then why do I feel so miserable every single day? Every single moment? Is the same as before, when I was so happy and thankful to do these things with him. Now, every word spoken, every breath shared is a searing pain to my nerves, emotions, and very soul! Am deteriorating with love for this stupid and unmanageable man—is it only going to get worse?

Will I spend the rest of my life pining for the perfection that will never be?

Will someone as attractive as I truly end up old and alone, with only faded memories to cling to at night?

I find the world very cruel if one can love another with all their being, and yet not be loved in return.

Feb 25

10:08 am

"Back to the dogs, I see," Mrs. Patmore commented upon seeing my broken expression after breakfast.

As we were alone, I answered with a small sounding, "Yes."

She sighed, walking over to me and placing an arm around me shoulders. "It can't be as bad as you make it seem. Surely this isn't about that girl of yours?"

"I don't have a girl," I nearly whimpered, feeling a shine of tears. "I don't have anybody, Mrs. Patmore." Tried so hard not to cry, Diary. Tried so hard, and failed so hard.

I erupted into a flow of warm, salty drippings, head sinking with the weight of it all.

"Oh, there, there," Mrs. Patmore cooed, fully hugging me now. "Hush, now. You're not alone. Not for one second." She patted my back—a little forcefully, she rattled my ribcage—and I buried my face in her greases-stained shoulder.

"But I am alone," I cried quietly, voice cracking. "Nobody likes me—"

"Stop that right now. I like you."

"Y-you do?" I hiccupped, moving to look at her.

She smiled, a touch pityingly. "I give you cake, don't I? I don't just do that for anybody."

Sniffled, nodding a bit. "That's true. You don't give Alfred cake."

"No. I don't." She smiled gently.

Feeling a momentary sense of comfort, I returned her smile, wiping my eyes with my sleeve. "Now take a seat. I've got a spare truffle or two somewhere around here."

Love Mrs. Patmore. Hate the world, hate the heart, but love Mrs. Patmore.

Feb 26

12:12 am

Was walking beneath the beautifully endless expanses of sky tonight with Thomas, my arm bumping into his at every other step.

I decided to stop, unable to resist how lovely the night was despite the biting chill. "Look at the stars. Aren't they lovely?" I smiled, breath mingling with the moon. "See that one, there? The brightest one? That's mine," I said, pointing.

Thomas smirked. "Is it? Well then that one's mine—the one that's alone."

"How uncharacteristic," I said sarcastically with a roll of the eyes. I mean, really.

"I don't know if I much like stars," he said, lips pursed. "They're always watching me every move. Waiting for me to fumble. As if they know some great bloody secret, and they're not letting me in on it."

Smiled. "They may be a little bold in their manner, but they are beautiful. Kind of like someone I know," I let slip. Oops.

His smile faltered, the weight of the sky suddenly impeding us.

"Shall we walk on?" he asked, voice strange.

Crestfallen, I nodded. I need to stop speaking.

Am never falling in love again.

How do people do this shit? The simplest tasks become soul-wrenchingly difficult, and every minute, there seems to be a sharp pressing in my chest.

It's as if there's a small string tightened around me heart, connected to Thomas' own heart. When we are near, side by side or sharing a smile in the same room, the string is slackened, allowing my heart to beat and breathe.

But the moment he steps away, the string tightens, pulling my heart in the direction he leaves and leaving it to suffocate and splutter in agony. The string is short—there's little room for distance. And so, all day, every day, it pulls tighter around my heart, constricts my breathing, and makes me wince, until I am again with him, where I can breathe.

Is very cruel.

Anna made love sound as if it were a blessing, as if it were the divine right of the world.

She's a rotten liar.

Feb 27

5:15 am

Have woken up early, unable to sleep.

Am in bed, reading my little Valentine over and over.

' _The world is changed because you are made of ivory & gold.' _

Who could have possibly written it?

Wish I knew. Perhaps could have a happy ending, after all.

5:21 am

Wish I could give it to Thomas. Except he isn't made of ivory and gold.

Is made of ice and ink. The kind that stains your fingertips and catches in your clothes, never to be washed away.

The world is changed because you have stained my soul, Thomas. You bloody monster.

10:17 am

Must really look the worse for wear today. Carson's just cornered me.

"The Dowager is expected at tea today, James."

"Very good, Mr. Carson," I nodded, eyes downward.

"… Are you quite alright?"

Looked up, surprised. He was surveying me with suspicion more than concern.

"I am, Mr. Carson."

"You don't look it."

What? What is he doing? Why is he pressing me? "I'm sorry to hear that," I said, expending all energy to keep the annoyance out of my tone.

He nodded, slowly, eyeing me. "Indeed. Well, get back to work. If you…desire to retire early, you may."

Almost fell over. Carson was giving me allowance to go to bed early?

Was there a gas leak in this bloody house?

"Thank you, sir," I nodded appreciatively.

Am a little distressed. Must look an absolute mess or be acting an absolute mess. Either way, Thomas is probably wise to it, and will probably need to answer unwanted questions tonight.

Just bloody great.

5:56 pm

"You alright?" Daisy asked me as I was waiting to bring up dinner.

"No," I mumbled, out of earshot of Alfred (didn't need his input).

She frowned, carrying a large tray of fish to me. "Cheer up. I've had Mrs. Patmore set aside some pudding for you."

"You what?" I asked, lighting up the tiniest bit.

"Aye," she nodded, wiping her hands on her apron. "I know how it cheers you."

Love Daisy.

8:41 pm

Well, dammit.

Thomas caught me in the hall, on my way down from clearing the upstairs dinner. "Hey, you," he greeted lightly, blocking my way. The string around my heart slackened.

Smiled in spite of me awful mood.

"Carson says you're acting funny. Said he's allowed you to go to bed early? You alright?"

He was concerned. He's stopped me because he's concerned.

Love me. Love me now.

"I-he said that, yes," I managed, staring into his eyes and struggling under the weight of far too many emotions for this time of day.

"I can come to you again, tonight? We don't have to go on a walk. I can go to your room for a little chat before you go to bed?" he offered, light worry marring the clarity of his stare.

"I'll go to you," I said, my heart warming at the prospect. "Am sick of me room."

He smiled, giving a knowing nod. "Alright, then. I await your arrival." He said it with a smirk, but there was real joy hidden between the cracks of superiority.

Am half-excited, half-dreading.

I hope he doesn't ask me any questions.

Am too afraid of my answers.

10:08 pm

Am done for the day. Practically skipped out of the servant's hall (right past Stella and Alfred—who winked at me cuz he's a creep) and am now in me room, changing into my nightclothes.

And then, off to visit Thomas!

Will be nice to chat under warm conditions.

Will be even nicer to get out of this room for a change.

I only hope it all goes well.

Feb 28

4:24 am

Ohmygodohmylordohmygod.

Oh god, Diary.

Oh god.

Just got back from Thomas' room.

I…

I can't believe I just did that.

Oh god, Diary.

I think I'm going to be ill.


	7. March

The Diary of Jimmy Kent

March

Mar 3

11:49 pm

Diary? It's me, Jimmy.

I know I haven't written in awhile. Not since…that day.

Oh, Diary.

I've made a mess of things. I truly have. I've taken a beautiful sculpture and bludgeoned it to the point of disrepair. Instead of a Greek God, it's now a nub, misshapen and potato-esque.

I've pulverized my relationship with Thomas into a potato.

I am ashamed, Diary. I don't know how much longer I'll be able to face you, to write down the truths that I so regret to confess. But it's all weighing on my mind so heavily, and the longer I ignore it and continue about my life—serving dinner to the Lord's family with an impassive face, chatting with Mrs. Patmore and Daisy as if nothing's amiss, watching Alfred and Stella laugh with each other in a way that makes me hate them for their ease of comfort—the more I die inside. Out of anger, regret…and confusion.

MY GOD, the confusion.

Well. I suppose I best start where it all began. Though this will not come easy to me.

It was that night that I decided to go to Thomas' room so I could have a change of scenery for our nightly chat. Everybody had already gone to bed, so I snuck into his room unseen with ease. Upon hearing the click of his door, Thomas looked up from his desk chair, glass of something in tow, an opened book, a few scraps of paper, and a forgotten pen scattered around his elbows, which were perched on the edge of the chipped wood. And my lord, even his elbows looked good that night.

"Well, hello, Thomas," I smiled, as he took a sip from his glass. "What's that there?" I nodded to his drink.

He swallowed neatly, then procured the bottle for me: wine. "Would you like a glass?"

"Did you steal wine?" I asked incredulously, eyes wide.

He smirked, setting down the bottle. "Not this decade."

Huh?

Didn't know what else to do, so I sat down on his bed. "I didn't know you drank."

"I don't much," he shrugged. His eyes flashed up to mine impishly. "Anymore."

Couldn't help but smile as I shook my head. "Of course. Is there anything you didn't do?" I teased as he handed me what was left in the bottle. Brought it to my lips and caught the briefest whiff of the rich liquid, sending a flashed memory of the last time I drank out of a bottle. Refusing to think about that mess of a day (fairs are shit), I took a deep drink, surprised at the pleasantness of the taste.

"Well," he said, setting down his glass and kicking up his feet, pondering my question. "I never got a girl pregnant."

Almost spit out the wine.

He watched me, bemused, as I spluttered and coughed, wiping my mouth on my sleeve. Dear god. What kind of person just tosses a sentence like that out in the air? My lord. And why on earth did he say that?

What was he trying to say? Was he trying to upset me?

"You don't like girls," I choked, suppressing my coughs and watering eyes.

He continued to stare lazily, his head tilted slightly back and smiling, just barely. "I don't dislike them."

"But you would never be with one."

He shrugged.

_What?_

Why the HELL did he just shrug?

"What's that supposed to mean?" I challenged, setting down the now empty bottle.

"It's not entirely out of the realm of possibility."

"YES IT IS." I thundered, then quickly checked myself as I was shot a warning look. "I mean," I said more quietly, "it's silly. Don't say things like that." I looked away.

Why had he said that? Did he like women? Was he faking this whole time? Had he purposely made me think he was this way just so that I would fall in love with him and then he could break my heart and laugh at me and run off with all the female staff?

Unable to suppress the panicked ideas swirling through my mind, I thoughtlessly demanded, "Have you been with a woman before?"

His eyebrows shot up, obviously surprised at my boldness.

No matter. I ignored the flush of my cheeks and returned his gaze unblinkingly.

"I'd rather not say," he finally said, carefully taking in my trembling fists and livid eyes.

So that was a yes.

Humiliated, horrified, heartbroken, and betrayed beyond explanation, I stood up from the bed and made my way to the door, ready to set fire to his damn room.

"Where are you going?" he demanded.

"I don't feel good. I need to go to bed," I muttered through gritted teeth, hand already on the doorknob.

In a flash I heard footsteps behind me, and then his hand was on mine, stilling my actions.

"Let's not run away this time, yes? What's wrong, Jimmy." It wasn't even a question. Just his solid voice, spoken to the back of my head, wine breath mingling with the air and settling in my nostrils. His intoxication transforming into mine.

Very aware of the warmth of his hand pressed into my own, I slowly turned around, my eyes sliding up to his. What do I say?

Urgh, don't think, Jimmy. Just don't think.

Well.

Maybe think a little bit. Don't go saying anything about being constipated again.

"I don't like hearing those things," I finally mumbled, feeling a strange sense of fear and relief at the sincere honesty of the words. (Is not a familiar sensation)

His brow furrowed, genuinely confused. "But why? You asked, I was merely—"

"I know. I just… I suppose, sometimes, I wish I didn't ask. Because I don't always want to hear your answer." My nerves sizzled in time with my palpitating heart.

Brow barely unfurrowing, he swallowed. "But why," he demanded.

Oh god.

His hand is still on mine. His hand is still there. And I'm basically pressed against a door. And he's so close he may as well be on top of me. And he smells like wine. And wine tastes good. So, based on reason, I can deduce that he tastes good. And his hand is on mind. My GOD is his hand warm and smooth. Could I lick his hand? Could I lick his face? Should I tell him I wrote that Valentine? Should I recite him love poetry?

As I stood there, panicked and ready to pounce, he slowly retreated, sliding his hand off of mine.

"A boy with no answers," he half-smiled with a shake of the head. Smoothly, he made his way to the bed and sat down, back against the head rest."But no matter. Come. Sit down." He patted the space beside him. "Tell me about your day. What did Alfred do this time?"

Despite the fact that I was sweating through my pajamas and felt an insane urge to stick my face in his neck, I smiled at the comfortable ease of the situation, and settled down next to him, marveling at the sweet closeness of our bodies and the way the mattress creaked when we laughed.

We spent the next two hours chatting away—I don't even remember about what, because our conversation drifted everywhere—and not once did I feel anything but perfectly natural and happy. (Oh, Diary. I love this man. I hate this man because I love this man.)

It was just as both of our eyes were beginning to weigh down, our voices getting deeper with sleep, and our sentences spaced farther and farther apart that he looked over to me, all sleepy eyes and dragging lips, and said, "I think you best get to bed. You'll be knackered tomorrow."

Turned my head to look at him. Knackered? So? I'll risk a limb if it means not having to leave this man's side.

"I don't want to go," I heard myself say quietly, the sleep obviously getting to me.

As soon as my words slipped out, a hardness began to form within his features, his slackened lips beginning to press into themselves.

Well, shit. There I go again.

Still, I couldn't bring myself to look away. (Jimmy, what are you doing?)

"I can't imagine it would go over well if they found you sleeping here, all tucked up in me bed." He was trying to keep his tone light, but the clench of his jaw suggested otherwise.

"I'll leave before then," I said quietly, unable to tear my eyes away, unsure of what I was asking of him.

Alright, Jimmy. That's enough.

"It's foolish."

"I want to."

JIMMY.

"You're endangering us both."

"I'm not. Just trust me."

There was a silence, only filled with my internal screams of: WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING JIMMY? ABORT. ABORT.

Brief pause.

"Jimmy. Go to bed." Voice hard, Thomas didn't move away as I leaned in a centimeter closer.

"I'm already in bed."

"Your own bed."

"I want to sleep here."

GODDAMMIT, JIMMY. STOP. STOP. STOP. STOP. STOP.

"But why?"

Stared at his empty eyes, his hardened mouth, and his taught, milk-and-shadows skin. "I'm a boy of no answers, remember?" I heard myself mutter as I found my hand reaching up to his face.

His speechlessness, which I should have taken as encouragement to merely—MAYBE—just stop and fall asleep next to him—cuz that's all that I wanted, right?—somehow invigorated me, and I found myself pulling his face to mine, demanding wine soaked lips to massage every panicked thought out of my head (as well as _any_ thought) and succumbed to every single urge and infuriating desire that had haunted me for months on end.

And so…I…had…relations…with Thomas.

My Thomas.

I'm ashamed, Diary.

Was ashamed then, too, and afterwards, when I finally came to my senses and refused to look in his eyes, I could only stumble into my clothes and run away, shutting the door as quietly as I could on the way out.

Was so distraught, but I couldn't say what I'd done, couldn't allow myself to admit to the terrible acts I'd just committed because I become a primal beast whenever I'm around that beautifully enticing dark angel of mine, and because the way he kisses is the most perfect thing in the world.

And, oh, Diary. I couldn't sleep that night, I could barely stay alive, the scent of Thomas still on my skin and daring me to hope—for the smallest of seconds—that, maybe, he loved me too and what had happened wasn't just a moment of bored weakness for him. That, maybe, this was how it was supposed to be, and we'd finally fallen in love and could face the world together.

But when I went downstairs the next morning…all was as it was before.

The world kept existing in its hurried pace, and Mrs. Patmore yelled at me for telling Alfred his breath smelled, and Mr. Carson bumbled by and demanded I put my gloves on immediately, and Thomas smiled easily at me from across the room before walking away.

I had thought that, perhaps, later he would mention the incident.

It was apparent, as soon as I stepped out into the cool and moist night air that he would not.

"Thomas," I greeted quietly, head bent and hands in pockets.

"Jimmy," said the pillar of smoke.

"H-how are you?" Talk to me. Talk to me, Thomas. Talk to me about last night. Please talk to me. Because I can't. You know I can't. So talk to me.

"Very well. Mr. Carson's getting more fidgety every day, what with Lady Mary's baby, but he's been alright. Says that the family is going to London again soon."

"I see." Talk to me. Talk to me now.

 

"And, of course, I had a bit of a time with O'Brien since she's been a bit of handful lately, but I think she's starting to behave herself. At least, I hope anyway. She's still on about Mr. Bates—though I can't imagine why, given the history there. I thought she'd gone and forgiven him. Course, I'm not sure she can ever truly forgive. Bates isn't as bad as she makes him out to be, though. Is a bit of a bore and too good for his own boots, but isn't a bad man. Lord knows I'm not in a place to say one word out of line in regards to him anymore."

I stared at him. What was this nonsense? What the hell was he talking about? O'Brien? Bates?

What?

"So you're good, then?" I asked, daring to look at him.

He nodded, exhaling his smoke. "I am. And yourself?"

"So you're not…tired, then?" I pressed, feeling a glare form at his complete ease and feigned ignorance.

"Tired? Why on earth should I be tired?" he asked, equal parts poise and confusion, empty eyes turning to me.

Ah.

I see.

So that's how it's going to be.

Where's a noose?

"I'm not sure," I said lamely, keeping the suffering out of my voice. "Just wondering, I suppose." Please kill me. You've already basically done it—now, finish the job.

So we stood there while he told me about Mr. fucking Carson's plans for the month, those perfect and skilled lips perched on the end of a cigarette, his eyes squinted into the darkness before him.

He didn't say anything about it, Diary.

Nothing.

Not a word.

He acted like it didn't even occur.

And for the past several days, all has been as it was between us. We talk, we laugh, we joke, and I die inside, more brutally than I ever have before.

I've ruined it for us, Diary. I have. I've ruined any romantic relationship Thomas and I could have embarked on. I've ruined it by lunging at him like he were a piece of juicy meat (top of the line, delicious, delicate, enticing juicy meat), and now he's traumatized and pretending it never happened because he's so repulsed by me, the thought alone turns him mute.

My heart is irrevocably destroyed.

And the worst part is…

I can't stop thinking about that night. And how, really, I don't see the harm in doing it again. Because if I've already destroyed any chance of a normal, functioning relationship between us (but really, how could our love ever be normal or functioning?) then what harm would be done if we, well….you know….had another chat in his room till the wee hours of morning?

Urgh, Diary.

I'm a mess.

I don't know what to think.

Mar 4

6:38 am

Am no longer running from my problems. I am going to face them. I'm not going to hide from the truth, hide from my emotions, and pretend that I'm perfectly okay with everything and that the other night didn't happen. Because it did.

And a real man faces problems.

So face them, I will.

11:39 am

Just passed Thomas in the hall. He face was thunderous.

"You alright?" I whispered, biting back an 'I've seen you naked.' (Is terrible, Diary. Every time I encounter Thomas, that is the first thought in my head. What have I become?)

He turned to me, eyes narrowed. "Mr. Branson's just been down here. Again."

"What? Why? Shouldn't he be upstairs?"

"It's not a question of where he _should_ be, it's a question of where he's _supposed_ to be. And no, he's not supposed to be here. I expect he's trying to make nice with Carson and Mrs. Hughes."

"Why's that?"

He shrugged and sniffed, looking away. "I'm not sure. Perhaps clinging on to the last semblances of conscience he has?"

I eyed his icy exterior. "You really don't like him, do you?"

He fixed his gaze on me. "I could run him over with his own car."

Stifled a laugh as we both turned and walked away.

Am not sure why he hates Mr. Branson so much.

I suppose it's just because he's very sour by nature.

9:59 pm

Am about to go meet up with Thomas for our nightly chat, which has become akin torture.

Wish we could just go to his room again and—no.

No, that is the last thing that should be done. Didn't get us anywhere before, it certainly won't get us anywhere tonight.

No, Jimmy. No.

Mar 5

12:01 am

"Are you still in a foul mood?" I asked him, noting the tighter-than-usual creases in his face as we walked along the edge of the gardens.

"Of course," he said, shooting me a sideways smile. "Aren't I always?"

Felt my innards smile in response. "Cheer up. You're of no use to me if you're all mopey and sullen."

"Hey, now. I've taken the time to put up with you when you're mopey and sullen."

"I've never been either of those things!"

He shot me a look. "Let's not walk down that path."

Raised my chin indignantly and looked away. Rude man.

After a few crunches of the grass beneath our feet, I slowly looked back over to him. His eyes were still averted, a grumpy glower still present.

"Why do you dislike Mr. Branson so much?"

He glanced at me. "He claimed to be one thing, then turned out to be another."

"Perhaps you're being a bit hard on him. Given the circumstances, that is."

"Perhaps. But I don't have to like him," he clipped, lighting another cigarette.

"Are you jealous of him?" I asked, watching his movements.

He stopped, mid-light. "What?"

"Are you jealous of him? Because he's moved up in the world and—"

"I guess it depends on how you classify 'moving up in the world,' doesn't it?" he interjected testily, fire in his eyes.

"I only meant that—"

"It doesn't matter what you meant. I don't want to speak on this."

"Would you just calm down?" I demanded, fighting the urge to pluck the cigarette out of his lips and jab it in his eye. "I'm not accusing you of anything, I'm just wondering where all this anger stems from—"

"He wasn't good enough for Lady Sybil, he was a rude bastard if there ever was one, and now he waltzes around upstairs, with a position in life, forgetting his passions and his goals and everything he claimed was so important to him. He's betrayed himself, and he's no better than me, and yet he's accepted by everybody, isn't he? He's just some rubbish chauffer that fell in love with the right person."

I stared at him, taken aback. Was Thomas bitter?

"Thomas," I began, noting his trembling hands as he successfully lit his cigarette. "You're worth just as much as he is, you know." I saw the emotions flicker across his face as he exhaled and began to walk again, hiding his face in smoke.

I sighed and followed.

We walked in silence, and I made sure to keep my hands in my pockets and my arms firmly away from his body so as not to brush against him and potentially agitate him to the point of explosion. It was like avoiding a land mine.

"I'm not sure why I dislike him," he suddenly said, eyes fixed ahead. "I just do."

I nodded, not quite daring to look at him yet. "Then I suppose, it's as simple as that."

He glanced at me, lips on the verge of a small smile. "I suppose it is. I'm sorry for my outburst."

"Don't be. Lord knows you've suffered enough of mine." I looked over to him fondly, and heard a thousand singing birds of paradise upon seeing that it his smile had grown.

The rest of the night went smoothly, and his temper happily vanished.

And now I'm in me room. While he's in his room. When, really, we could be in a room together. Again.

No.

Must not. Must go to bed.

5:50 am

Is impossible to sleep when one's mind is fixed on…other things.

I'm not sure if I'll ever sleep again.

7:31 am

I need to start moisturizing my skin more. Or something.

"Are you quite alright, James? You've been looking quite the worse for wear as of late. Are you ill again? Would you like Dr. Clarkson to come around? I can have someone fetch him at once."

Oh, Mrs. Hughes. Love you, but you really must stop insinuating that I look like a shriveled banshee every single week.

2:33 pm

Keep bumping into Thomas.

Has he always smelt that good?

5:03 pm

I want to choke Alfred with his own bowtie.

"I'm going to tell Stella I love her tonight."

We were standing in the corner of the kitchen—out of a very flustered Mrs. Patmore's way—and waiting for our trays. He was grinning like a loon and leaning in to me as if his bloody voice hadn't been loud enough for all and sundry to hear.

"Well that's quite tidy for you," I said sharply, hoping to end this duller-than-dogs conversation.

"I know," he beamed, rocking on his heels. "I've got the best looking girl in the house on me arm. Me auntie's quite proud."

Your auntie's probably making eyes at her.

"Well, I guess you're quite lucky then, aren't you."

"Yeah. But I knew someone would have to come along sooner or later. I'm happy for it to be sooner," he said simply, that dumb smile still painting his face.

I could seriously shove his head into a toilet.

"Stop taking it for granted," I suddenly hissed, feeling my anger begin to surface.

He stared at me.

"Stop taking the fact that you're lucky enough to love who you want, when you want, for granted. You're lucky to have found a girl—you really, really are—stop acting like it's nothing. It's something, alright, you knob? It's something."

Luckily, our trays were ready at that point and nothing more was said on the subject.

Genuinely despise that boy. Is shallow and dumb and will never understand real love and the trials of not being able to obtain it.

8:49 pm

Was just on me way to hang up my jacket, when Thomas appeared out of nowhere and caught my arm.

"Good news," he greeted, hand still on my elbow. (Was very aware of the fact. My god, that man holds a nice grip.)

"Oh? And what would this good news be?" I smiled, praying he wouldn't release his hand.

"Weather's quite nice tonight," he said, releasing his hand. Blast. "No chill to cut through your pretty bones."

Pretty bones? He just said I had pretty bones. Thomas thinks I have pretty bones. He can have as many bones of mine as he desires.

"Oh, well," I blushed, forcing control over my grin. "That'll be a nice change for us."

"Indeed. See you in a bit," he winked, slinking away.

I'm sorry, Diary. But how on earth am I supposed to keep existing around Thomas, knowing what we did, not speaking about it, and instead chatting about trivial things like our jobs and the people around us while he keeps winking at me like a delicious and devilish animal of prey?

My suffering increases each day. I have well and truly sabotaged my life.

11:31 pm

Just got back.

Eeeuuurrrgh.

We were outside, just sitting on a bench and looking up at the sky. Thomas did most of the talking, as he has been doing of late. (I can't find many things to say these days that don't involve shouting "I love you, please love me back!" in his face.)

So instead, I settled for listening to Thomas talk about his career.

"Don't much see the point in being an under-butler. I mean, I'm appreciative, I am, but I don't know how much longer I want to be Carson's puppet. I want to be the butler," he breathed, eyes gliding upward in contemplative nonchalance.

Glanced over at him, feeling the bud of unease plant itself in my stomach.

"What are you saying?"

He took a moment to answer, inhaling and exhaling his precious poison. "There's nothing that says I need to be at Downton forever."

The bud of unease blossomed into a rainforest.

Where did THAT come from? LEAVE Downton?

What?

Was this because of me and my travelling hands?

"You can't leave," I said immediately, sitting up. "Carson's getting on in age. They'll need a butler eventually. They'll go to you, I know it. You don't have—"

"But when's that going to be, eh?"

I couldn't respond, so I was forced to close my mouth.

"That's all I'm saying," he said, looking me in the eye for one second before returning his smoky gaze upward.

"I suppose I should go to bed," I said after a heavy pause. "Am feeling quite tired." And may or may not be about to be sick.

Ice eyes shot once more at me before he nodded. "Goodnight," he said, not moving a muscle.

Weighed down by a thousand dark thoughts and broken emotions, I didn't bother responding and instead just took my leave without a second glance.

Am now in my room. Crying. Crying over this stupid man that has ruined my stupid life and now I can't even fall asleep in my stupid bed because my stupid emotions are destroying my stupid life.

Is Thomas going to leave? Is the one person I've discovered in this dungeon of a life, the one beautiful ray of light that I've come to love more than anything, going to leave and never return?

Is he going to forget me? Is he leaving BECAUSE of me?

I hate the world. I hate it. Is unjust and cruel and tragic and mocking and I am beyond the point of repair.

And now I'm not even sure if I hear a knock on me door or if my head and heart are just breaking that loudly.

11:40 pm

Thomas. It was Thomas who was knocking.

"Are you...crying?" he asked, almost fearfully, as he stared at me with bewildered eyes.

"No!" I spat, turning my head away. "I'm sweating!"

Both eyebrows shot up. "I see. Why?"

"Because that's what men do, Thomas. They sweat," I wailed, almost hysterically, fighting back the pouring tears. I can only imagine what I must have looked like.

Even through my watering eyes I could see his obvious amusement as he bit his lips back, suppressing a smile and/or laughter. Bastard.

"Well, then. I, er, actually just came up here to say that I think you misinterpreted what I said."

Momentarily, my tears stopped. I peered at him through a tendril of my golden hair.

"Huh?"

"I won't be leaving Downton anytime soon. I think I may have…made it sound differently."

"You-you're staying?"

A nod. "Of course. I were just talking about the future—the distant future. And not even very seriously, at that."

"R-really?"

"Really. I'm not about to leave a good job. And good people." He paused. "And then there's you, of course. Can't go leaving you behind with nobody to look after you. You'd end up blowing the place up. Or killing Alfred in his sleep." He smiled mockingly, but his eyes were mindful of my reaction, keeping a close watch on my face.

I had to hold back a sob of pure relief.

"Oh. Well. I don't care much either way," I managed, voice breaking in several places. "You do what you have to do, it's no bother to me." Was hoping I was doing a convincing job, but the amusement Thomas displayed proved otherwise.

"Well, even so. I won't be going anywhere. So, goodnight, Jimmy. I'll see you tomorrow."

"Alright. Goodnight, Thomas."

I could've leapt onto his back for love of him as he walked away.

I love that man. He is made of pure gold beneath that exterior of coal.

Now if only he would let me love him.

11:50 pm

Why won't he let me love him? He used to care for me so much—back when I was still a fool that didn't realize the luck I'd been bestowed.

Do not understand. It's been five days since we…well…since _that_ night, and I cannot go one more day as we are, not when he's always apologizing for hurting me feelings, not when he smiles sweetly at me, not when he promises to never leave me behind.

This is torture.

Must talk to Thomas.

Now.

Mar 6

3:19 am

GODDAMMIT.

I NEED TRANQUILIZERS. This is getting out of hand. OUT OF HAND, I SAY. I have NO control over my functions and capabilities!

Went into Thomas' room with every intention to speak with him. (Honestly. I really did want to talk.)

He immediately looked up from where he was stoking the fire. His face expressed complete surprise.

"You alright?"

"No."

Oh god. Why did I say no?! Now what?

After a few confused beats of silence, I felt the pressure of the situation as Thomas continued to stare at me with analyzing eyes. So naturally, I panicked and reacted accordingly. (can I get a lobotomy?)

"What's wrong?" he pressed as I took a step toward him.

Alright. Time to talk.

"I can't get me pants undone," I found myself saying instead.

Oh. Dear. God.

Great. Splendid. This is going to go so well. Lots of discussion tonight, oh yes. (I'm serious about the lobotomy)

The concern in his eyes was quickly replaced with a glare. Thomas was not impressed. "Don't know why you came to me about it."

"I need help. With the button."

This is not smooth, Jimmy. This is awkward and strange.

This is also not talking.

He stared, poker still in hand. "You want me to unbutton your pants."

"Yes." Pause. " _Please_ ," I corrected to be kind.

With a near glower, Thomas stood up, set the hot poker down, then walked up to me, eyes completely avoiding my face. In one swift movement, he unbuttoned my pants. And it was the least sexy thing I'd ever encountered.

What do I do now? He's obviously repulsed by me. Wants nothing to do with my body.

Talk to him, Jimmy. Talk now, before all is lost.

"I need help taking them off, too."

DAMMIT, JIMMY.

Thomas stared. "What are you doing, Jimmy?"

"I'm just trying to get my pants off, Thomas."

"No, you're trying to get _me_ to get your pants off."

"I need help," I said quietly, my eyes beginning to fixate on his unearthly lips.

Talk….Jimmy…talk…

My will was shrinking.

Could only see his lips.

"I can't help you," he said just as quietly, as I took another step forward.

"Yes you can. And right now I'm asking you to help me." Stared up at him, our chests now bumping, and wondered why on earth I ever wanted to talk.

Without another word I pulled him down to me, kissing away any doubt he—very briefly—possessed.

Next thing I knew…

I was scampering out of the room, his scent lingering on my lips, his fingerprints branded in my skin, feeling like a filthy reptile with no soul, botching the only romance I'd ever had—and ever will have.

All in all, Diary… I've made things worse.

And am officially addicted to Thomas Barrow.

6:19 am

Another terrible night's sleep.

Keep thinking about last night. Quite literally cannot think about anything else.

I wonder if Thomas will say anything today. I wonder if I'll get a scolding.

8:46 am

Of course.

Just saw Thomas.

"Morning, James. You best be getting more sleep. You look rubbish," he said in a silken voice, brushing past me without care.

Couldn't bring myself to even attempt to respond.

Our relationship is such a mess.

Is beyond the point of salvation.

1:49 pm

"You've been quiet lately, Jimmy," Ivy said as she handed me my tea. Was in the kitchen, having a bit of a break.

"You have. That's never a good sign," Mrs. Patmore mused, marching toward the stove with an enormous pot of water.

"Oh, well. I've just been…focusing."

"Focusing on what?" Daisy asked, clutching a filthy rag. (That poor girl really needs a day in the sun. Or a bath. Could be such a pretty girl if she wasn't coated in kitchen grease and smelled of roast beef.)

"Me job, of course. How's Benjamin, Ivy?" I asked politely, changing the subject.

Ivy's shining eyes told me I'd been spared the interrogation I had been in danger of facing, and the next twenty minutes was spent with her regaling us about the hallboy. (as if hallboys are worth anything.)

Have I been quiet lately, Diary? I haven't noticed. Must fix this—cannot have anybody suspect something is amiss.

New and natural attitude is now in place.

3:03 pm

Bullocks.

"Is everything alright, Jimmy?" Anna asked almost immediately as I sat down in the servants' hall.

I looked to her, smoothing my features. "Of course. I'm happy as a clam."

She wasn't having it. "What's wrong?"

Paused momentarily, considering asking her for advice. But what was I supposed to say? 'Oh, Anna, can you help me figure out what I'm supposed to do next now that I've been intimate with my best friend? Twice? Who, by the way, is Thomas?'

No. There's no way I can speak to Anna.

"Nothing I can't handle myself," I assured her, and gave her a curt nod before I walked right back out.

11:50 pm

Just got back from another let's-not-talk-about-the-obvious-fact-that-we-can't-keep-our-hands-off-of-each-other-and-instead-act-like-nothing-has-changed-even-though-everything-has-and-I-could-die-from-emotional-turmoil night with Thomas.

Stupid man was banging on about Branson again, all because he overheard him telling Carson he would like to join us for tea. Calm down, Thomas.

Didn't mention a word about last night. Didn't even get a reproving look.

Wish that I could speak up, Diary, but is impossible. Every time I open my mouth, my voice cowers out of view, beyond my reach. Cannot say anything because I do not know what to say.

We're doing it all wrong, and yet I can't seem to stay away from him.

I solemnly swear to NOT go to his room tonight.

I'm going to make it a goal.

11:53 pm

I'm serious. I'm not going.

11:55 pm

I mean it. I'm staying right here.

11:56 pm

…

Mar 7

4:06 am

Fuck.

6:21 am

No more goals.

Because goals, apparently, are pointless.

6:33 am

Have a bit of time before I need to go downstairs. Am writing with my pen and looking at my Valentine—which is now fading a bit due to overuse. (I really must stop looking at it so much or it won't last the month)

I wonder… I wonder if Thomas made it for me? He knew it was Oscar Wilde right away. Perhaps he was the one who left it? Perhaps Thomas loves me?

… No.

No, of course he doesn't.

If he loved me, he would stop me from running out of the room every time we…get together. He would grab me arm or call me name instead of handing me my nightclothes without so much as a glance my way.

Is awful, Diary.

What have we become? If I thought I knew pain before, I was wrong. This is far more agonizing—being so close to having what you want…yet never being farther from it. Every day that I become more attached, I become more aware that we will never be.

3:45 pm

I hate everybody.

Was in the servants' hall resisting the urge to drown myself in my tea, while Alfred and Stella giggled and flirted, their slobbish, tacky bumblings filling up the whole of downstairs, and only serving to plunge me into a deeper stupor.

"Oh, Alfred! You are such a goon! You can't juggle live snakes!" Stella giggled, swatting him on the arm.

Brilliant findings, Sherlock. I would never have second guessed Alfred's ability to handle snakes.

"Can too," he said indignantly, keeping one eye on her at all times. "And I'll prove it to you!"

"Alright! Prove it!"

"I will!"

"So do it!"

"I will!"

"So then do it!"

"Would you two just SHUT IT UP?!" I suddenly bellowed.

All movements paused, and all eyes turned to me.

Oops. (Will I forever be a victim to my temper?)

Unfortunately, my foul mood bested any sense of decency I may have possessed, so I went on with a spirited, "We GET it. You two fancy each other, it's great, it's swell, it's jolly good for the both of you, but do you honestly feel the need to make such a bloody show of yourselves for all of us to suffer through?! Because I don't know about the rest of these guys, but I for one would like to drink my tea in PEACE, without the added threat of retching everywhere because you two are so BLOODY SICKENING."

If a pin had dropped, we would have heard it.

Stella and Alfred just stared at me, wide-eyed and open-mouthed. As did everybody else.

Feeling the instant regret of a lashing-out gone wrong, I awkwardly stood from my chair, eyes averted downward. "Excuse me," I mumbled, taking my leave.

"They deserve an apology," Bates called from the table, eyes hard.

I turned to look at him, then over to Anna, who was sitting beside him, peering worryingly at me. Like a guilty conscience.

Feeling that anything said would most likely be severely derogatory, I settled for responding with a simple glare, and left the room as quickly as I could.

Feel that I am not in the wrong, because Alfred and Stella are a pair of idiots, and I bear the weight of the world on me shoulders.

Do not feel bad in the slightest.

8:02 pm

Anna came up to me just now, as I was sneaking a moment of silence in the corridor, head leaned back against the wall.

"Jimmy?"

I looked up, startled, to see her softly approaching figure.

Weary, I offered only a half-smile. "Anna," I greeted, readying myself for a lecture on my behavior toward her husband earlier.

She smiled, then stood in front of me appraisingly, head tilted to one side.

"Are you alright?"

I looked up, startled again. That wasn't what I was expecting.

"Uh—"

"You didn't seem yourself earlier," she said kindly. (Love Anna. Has the most comforting eyes)

"I bet if you asked most people, they'd say I seemed quite myself," I muttered darkly, folding my arms over my chest.

She shook her head. "I'll have none of that nonsense. Now. Are you alright?"

I met her gaze, somewhat reluctantly. "Not really."

The calming blink of her eyes suggested her lack of surprise. "Is this about that question you asked me a ways back?"

Feeling shame and fear, I merely nodded.

A touch of pity in her eyes. "Is it not going so good?"

"Not at all."

"Why ever not?"

"I ruined everything. I did everything all wrong. And now…I don't think it can be fixed."

"It can be fixed," she immediately insisted, her face alight with optimism. "It can. Even in the darkest hours, we have solutions all around us. It just takes a bit of time to discover them."

"But—"

"James."

Oh god. That voice.

Speak of the devil.

As one, Anna and I looked over to Thomas, who was standing in his professionally stiff way, eyes narrowed in slight suspicion—but more annoyance.

"What are you doing? Mr. Carson's been looking all over for you. Get upstairs now."

With one last look at Anna, I left, brushing past Thomas' sparkless body.

9:57 pm

'It can be fixed,' Anna said.

So, if Thomas and I talk tonight, we may be able to sort it out between the two of us. If we just talk about what's been going on behind closed doors, we may be able to reassemble the brittle remains of our once beautiful and meaningful friendship.

Will go to him now and lay down the law.

Oh. What's this?

10:01 pm

Blast.

Thomas just came to me door.

"I think I'll be staying in tonight. We've got done a bit early, and I'm just going to go to bed."

I stared at him, a thousand voices screaming a thousand different things.

Was this an invitation? Or a warning?

"Yes, that sounds…nice?"

He nodded, eyes on mine. "Indeed." Then he left.

He didn't say goodnight. So, if he didn't say goodnight, that must mean that he wants me to go to his room? Or is he mad at me? Or is he mad because I didn't seem like I wanted to go to his room? Should I just go to his room to drop something off, then assess the situation from there? Or maybe I should ask him a question?

But what should I ask?

Mar 8

3:21 am

Just got back from Thomas' room.

Ended up settling for:

"Thomas? I was just wondering if you have any idea who gave me my Valentine."

"You mean the only one you got?"

Cheeky bastard. "Yes," I said with a narrow of the eyes.

He smirked from his bed. "Yes."

"Who?"

"It wouldn't be very fair just to give it away, would it?"

I sat down on the bed. "But I want to know."

"And when have I ever given you anything you wanted?"

Um. Every night for the past week. "You should start being nicer, you know," I warned.

"And you should stop coming into my room asking questions," he shot back mindfully, his soft voice intoxicating every sense I possessed.

He had a point.

Nevertheless, the primal beast within me took over, and I once again found myself lunging at his perfect, poised body.

Will never get tired of those lips, even if they're fatally wounding me.

However, am very quickly getting tired of the coldness of our exchanges. (Is wrong to even call them exchanges. Should be more special than that, but isn't this all they are?) Still feel very wrong and discomforted, like petting a cat in the opposite direction of its fur, but am beginning to wish—in the deepest parts of my very swollen, agitated heart—that I could just stay for a little while after. Instead of running away like a thief in the night, I wish I could lie next to him as his breathing settles, brush my hand over his cheek as he closes his eyes….

I wish that I could lull myself to sleep with the reassurance of his heartbeat, instead of scribbling away in a diary alone, keeping miserable, trapped tears at bay.

I wish so many things.

1:05 pm

Just saw Mr. Branson chatting with Anna and Bates in the servants' hall. He was sitting down and everything!

Suppose I should tell Thomas. Even though I do not like talking to Thomas as of late. Is becoming impossibly painful and complicated, even just to say hello.

1:21 pm

"He's what?!"

"Just what I said. If you go now you'll still catch him. Last I saw he was having a chat with Anna and Bates. They all seemed very friendly."

Thomas glared in the direction of the library, where Mr. Carson currently presided. "Carson'll have no idea about this, of course. He would never allow such behavior. How can His Lordship let him dally about with the staff?"

Couldn't help but smile at him despite the daggers in his eyes. "You don't have to make it sound so bad."

Daggers now pointed at me. "Yes I do."

Without another word he headed downstairs.

Felt a little miserable as I watched him go.

Tell him about Mr. Branson talking to a lady's maid and a valet? He hits the wall.

Become physically involved with him and spend every possible moment together? He doesn't even look up from his tea.

Perhaps if he stopped focusing all of his energy on Mr. Branson and started focusing on _me_ , he would be a little happier. We would ALL be a little happier.

8:12 pm

Alfred's mere existence bothers me.

"Have you been listening to a word I've been saying?" he asked as we were clearing the dining room.

Hm. I'm surprised he noticed.

"No," I said simply.

Felt a glare. "You've been in a right mood lately."

"Have I?"

Felt a bigger glare. "You're mean."

"You're ugly."

Then I walked out.

Mar 9

2:47 am

Just returned from Thomas' room.

Need to stop all of this. All of it.

Is not special when we…join. Is becoming a cheap favor, a nightcap, likened to a handshake or a passing nod. Is not right for us, Diary, not when we know each other and laugh together and talk about our dreams and hide each other's fears and make the world ours—just ours.

Is so cold.

Afterwards, when I am able to think again, and no longer have the pressures of absolute need digging into every cell of my body, I am ridden with guilt and shame over my lowly behavior—am nothing more than a beast, fulfilling primal urges that have nought to do with the heart. So I leave. I leave without a second glance, I leave without a word, I just get up, gather my clothes, and I leave. Is becoming such a regular habit, that, before I even move a muscle, Thomas hands me my things, or settles into bed, back facing me.

Tonight, I lingered, just for a second. He handed me my trousers without meeting my gaze, before he stood up and splashed his face with water. Was silent, save for the ticking of the clock and the drips of water falling from his chin. I almost spoke. I almost apologized, but the shame pushed me into silence and I merely re-clothed myself and left.

This is wrong. It's all wrong. We steal each other's bodies in the night, steal each other's smiles in the day, each other's souls in the evening.

This isn't how it's supposed to be. Not for us.

I'm more miserable now than I was before. Wish we never started this sick and unfeeling cycle.

12:06 pm

I have made a new nickname for myself:

Alone & Unloved.

3:34 pm

Was alone in the kitchen with Mrs. Patmore when I went to drop off me tray.

Feeling her eyes on me, I kept my head down, but was soon caught by a firm yet tender hand on my arm.

"You've not been right, Jimmy."

"No different than always, Mrs. Patmore."

"Oh, I disagree. You are quite different. You've barely spoken to Daisy, haven't said naught to our poor Ivy, and don't listen to a word of what Alfred says." (Is that a new development?) "And you haven't touched any of the food I've tried to give you. Now, I don't want to fuss in your business, but if this keeps up, I'm going to have to tell Mr. Carson. We're worried about you!"

Felt panicked, angered, and touched, all at the same time. "Who's 'we'?" I asked, unable to think of any other sentence.

"All of us down here. Mrs. Hughes has been speaking about it."

Mrs. Hughes? What? Everybody was talking about me behind my back?

"Well why hasn't she said anything to me?!" I said hotly, feeling the pricks of paranoia.

"Easy, now," she said sternly, shooting me a disapproving glare. "She doesn't know how to go about it, as your work's not been suffering. And your mood changes as frequently as the moon, we never know what state you're going to show up in!"

Felt myself unraveling. Everybody…was thinking…about me? They cared…about me?

_Me?_

"I thought everybody hated me," I said, my voice cracking. (Dammit)

Mrs. Patmore gave me a sympathetic smile as she rubbed a soothing hand over my shoulders. "Wouldn't be the first time you've been wrong."

Smiled through the waterfall of emotions pouring on me, and was just about to thank her, when the kitchen maids returned.

Not wanting them to see me cry, I left immediately.

Am very touched though, Diary. Perhaps this place isn't so terrible after all.

11:00 pm

Have just gotten back from Thomas' smoke. He wasn't in a very good mood.

"I love March," I said, hoping to spark conversation. Has been very tense between us as of late.

He shrugged. "It's alright. Just another month."

"Just another month? But Thomas, each month has its own, special feel!"

"Hardly," he scoffed. "The only thing 'special' about the month, is when it's over. And even then, you're just preparing for more of the same."

"You make it sound as though there's nothing to look forward to."

"There isn't."

"Thomas, really," I sighed in exasperation.

His slitted eyes cut me in response, cigarette poised near his cold lips. "The day you grow up will be a welcome day indeed."

Was taken aback. The day I grow up? What, does he find me childish? (I should hope not, considering that would make him a pedophile.)

"Why are you being so nasty?" I demanded, refusing to look upset.

There was a momentary silence in which he closed his eyes, and I noted the pinch in the corners. Then all at once his eyes were open and sightless once more, and his cigarette was flicked away.

"I'm going to bed. 'Night."

Felt no need to respond. We both knew we weren't going to bed.

Sat there for a couple more moments, an empty coldness overcoming my body, before finally heading inside.

Am about to go to his room now. Wish I could stop myself, but cannot.

Am weak, Diary. This magnetic pull between our bodies has overcame any reason or self-control I've ever possessed.

I just wish it wasn't all so cold. I just wish we could talk about it after. I just wish I could stay.

Mar 10

5:11 am

I made a bold decision last night, Diary. (Have just gotten back from Thomas' room)

I stayed the night.

I did. I actually stayed.

We were lying in bed, eyes anywhere but at each other, my mind unable to shake off screams of, 'STAY. ASK TO STAY. ASK TO STAY BECAUSE YOU ARE WORTH MORE THAN A CHEAP TRICK AND YOU LOVE HIM AND HE BETTER BLOODY LOVE YOU TOO.'

Feeling a fresh bout of nerves, I looked over to his chest (unable to look anywhere NEAR his face) and placed my hand delicately there, fingers splayed over the hard, luminescent skin. Somehow felt personal and safe, knowing I could do this, just rest my hand across his bare skin, and felt a strange sense of childish possession as my hand and his chest, together, rose and fell in time with his breathing. Was _my_ Thomas and, in my ridiculous way, I was claiming him.

I kept my eyes on my hand as I built up the courage to say the next words.

"Maybe I could stay tonight."

Pause.

Saw his head turn toward me out of the corner of my eye.

"Stay?"

"Just for tonight. Maybe I could….stay. And leave early. Very early."

"Then what would be the point in staying?" came his indifferent voice.

Was momentarily deterred, but plowed on. "Because I want to, Thomas," I said with a shaky voice. (why must my voice refuse to cooperate with me at the most crucial of times?)

At this, I felt him stiffen.

Was about to take my hand away and just leave (and then sob for hours) when he suddenly brought his hand up to mine. Slowly, he brushed his fingers along my skin, running the pad of his thumb over my fingertips, swirling his forefinger over my knuckles.

My heart burst into flame.

(No matter how many times he touches me, Diary, it will NEVER get old, and it will NEVER get any less emotionally exhausting. Or physically, for that matter.)

"It will be cramped, both of us in this tiny bed," came his voice, cutting through the silence.

Ohmygod. Ohmygod.

Was he actually….considering it?

"I'm small, me. And I don't move much," I immediately said with a smile, my whole body on tenterhooks.

With a small sigh, he removed his hand from mine (sadness) and scooted the tiniest bit over.

"Well, then. Goodnight."

And he turned off the lamp.

Wait. Had that actually just happened?

Ohmylord. There was absolutely no way I was going to be able to sleep.

Instead, I concentrated on his breathing and every tiny movement he made, in hopes to get a sense of his current mental state. Was he happy or unhappy? Tense or relaxed? Regretting his decision or not?

The stiffness of his shoulders, his unmoving form, and his harsh breathing unsettled my stomach. He was clearly uncomfortable.

He didn't want me there.

Here I am, trying to forge a bond, trying to be romantic, and he's trying to hold back from shoving me out of the damn bed!

Briefly considered asking him once more if he truly wanted me there, when he suddenly let out a heavy sigh, and his hand crawled down to mine. Gingerly, he laced his fingers through my own, and with a smile that may have lit up the entire room—nay, the entire WORLD—I allowed myself to close my eyes and feel, for just this one moment, that things were perfect. And that life, maybe, still has the potential to be absolutely beautiful.

Slept for a very short while, then retreated around five, feeling an overpowering warmth over the fact that he'd still not let go of my hand. I didn't wake him as I left. I couldn't bring myself to, not when his face held such perfect serenity amongst the shadows of sleep.

Love him. So very dearly.

Perhaps today will be different. The start of a new era.

9:38 am

Was just in the kitchen with Daisy, chatting about cheese (my life has become so tragic), when Thomas came in.

"Have you seen Alfred?" he asked us.

"Why do you need Alfred?" I immediately asked without thinking. Calm yourself, Jimmy.

He shot me a subtle, yet powerful, glare. "It's a 'yes' or 'no' question, James."

Fell silent, feeling an angry blush forming.

"No, we haven't," Daisy said, glancing between the two of us.

"Thank you, Daisy." He gave a curt nod, then left.

"What were that about?" she asked me, staring intently at my face.

"Nothing at all," I muttered, taking a sip of tea.

So I guess there won't be a new era after all.

1:11 pm

Oh no.

Just passed by Carson's office.

"He'll be coming down today, and that's all there is to it, Mr. Carson," came Mrs. Hughes exasperated voice.

"But he has no reason to do so! Surely His Lordship would not—"

"His Lordship deems it perfectly acceptable for Mr. Branson to visit the staff as often as he sees fit. Now, will you calm down about the whole affair and be on your best behavior?"

"I will behave however I deem appropriate, Mrs. Hughes."

Could practically hear the roll of her eyes.

Left in jiffy (Mrs. Patmore was calling me) but now I'm fearing what this will to do Thomas' mood.

We're already in such a fragile place… The last thing I need from him is a bad temper.

5:05 pm

Mr. Branson came down, just as Mrs. Hughes said.

We were all in the servants' hall, sat round, Mr. Branson chatting amiably, when suddenly you-know-who showed up.

"What are you doing down here?" Thomas demanded, eyes hard on Mr. Branson.

"Mr. Branson has kindly asked to join us for tea. You, of course, will not object to that, Mr. Barrow?" Mrs. Hughes asked threateningly, kind eyes ready to slaughter.

Obviously repulsed by the idea, he bit his cheeks, eyes still fixed on the man before him. "Of…course not, Mrs. Hughes." His voice was strangled, and I found myself suppressing a smile at his severe discomfort. Oh, Thomas. "How are you today, Mr. Branson?" he asked unwillingly, fists clenched.

"Very well, thank you," Mr. Branson responded, the ever-present hint of sadness lurking behind his eyes. (He didn't seem so bad. I don't know why Thomas hates him so much)

"Splendid."

As soon as Thomas settled in his chair he calmed down considerably, though his eyes remained in their cold fixture, glued to his untouched teacup. Not once did he look up.

Found this very amusing (I remember when Thomas would refuse to look at me. Was such a terrible feeling) but was quite relieved when Mrs. Hughes announced that everybody get back to work.

"It's been a pleasure, Mr. Branson," Mrs. Hughes smiled warmly, before excusing herself.

As everybody filed out, I noticed Thomas' hesitance, and soon he, Mr. Branson, and I were the only ones left.

Unaware of my presence (somehow), Thomas, for the first time, looked to Mr. Branson as the latter stood up, straightening his jacket.

"I find it interesting that you still wish to consort with us, Mr. Branson," came the icy voice.

Made to look like I was leaving the room, but kept my ears wide open as I carefully walked out, then hid behind the doorway, peeking at the scene before me.

Mr. Branson looked over to him, face void of emotion. "We may never have been friends, Thomas—"

"Mr. Barrow," Thomas interjected dangerously.

"Mr. Barrow," Mr. Branson corrected, "but I did have other friends here. And nothing has changed that."

"That's where you're wrong, isn't it? You're not part of the staff anymore, _Mister_ Branson, you belong upstairs now. You're lucky we display such good manners—"

"I find it very amusing that you would claim to have good manners, Mr. Barrow."

Thomas stiffened. Saw written on his face the internal struggle between lashing out and toeing the line to his ranked superior.

"Good day," Mr. Branson finally said, then left, leaving a very embittered Thomas behind.

How did I know this wasn't going to turn out well…

10:03 pm

And it's all getting worse.

Just stepped outside to meet Thomas, and no sooner had I closed the door, when he stubbed out his cigarette, and made his way to leave.

"Oi, where you going?" I asked, blocking his way and noting his firmly anywhere-but-at-me gaze.

"I've got a few things to do," he mumbled, refusing to look my way.

"Such as…?"

He sighed, then gave me a cold, hard look. "I'm not feeling well, Jimmy."

"Would you like—" Stopped short. Was going to ask, 'Would you like to go to your room for a chat, then?' but knew that that was beyond the realm of allowable conversation. Fumbled for a substitute sentence. "Would you like me to get you anything?"

He shook his head sharply, trying to walk around me. Upon failure, he sighed, then looked to me once more. "Let me pass."

"Are you angry with me?"

"I'm angry with everybody."

I swallowed, feeling a plunk in my stomach. "Does this…have to do with last night?" I dared to ask, recalling his stiffened body and uneasy breathing as I had lain next to him in the dark. (But he held my hand—surely that meant something?) I held my breath, fearing his response.

He froze, fifty different emotions flickering through his eyes. At last he spoke, his tone stern.

"We are not to discuss any such matters."

Oh, well don't you sound like the proper little business man.

"Thomas, please just—"

He shoved past me, face set in a stormy scowl. "Goodbye, Jimmy," his voice rang in the night air, coarse as gravel.

Goodbye?

Don't know what to do, Diary. My filthy body wants nothing more than to go to his room as is custom. But my heart…. My heart wants nothing to do with it.

I don't know if I can bring myself to go to him tonight.

I don't know what to do anymore.

10:31 pm

His door was locked.

Thomas hates me.

Mar 11

6:34 am

Have already decided that I hate today and that the world is deceitful and evil.

Maybe I'll allow myself to throw a spoon at Alfred's head today. Just a little treat since life seems to enjoy shitting on me so much.

Oh, and I am going to style my hair. Because I know that Thomas doesn't like it. That'll show that evil, heartless, uses-me-for-my-excellent-body MONSTER.

AND I'm not going to carry that blasted pen around with me anymore. OR that blasted Valentine.

Am done with feelings.

7:11 am

Have come back to fetch my pen and Valentine. My pockets feel too empty without them, and despite the very real pain of the dysfunction between Thomas and myself, I cannot seem to silence that small part of me that clings to the hope that he loves me as ardently as I love him.

But he certainly does NOT need to know that I am carrying around his treasures. Well, if the Valentine is even from him.

Which it probably is not.

4:12 pm

Diary. I. Am. Going. To. Set. The. House. On. Fire.

Had just gone downstairs to prepare for teatime, when I heard Mr. Branson's voice, drifting in from the back corridor.

Oh dear. Branson downstairs. Again. Best not tell Thomas, or he'll be—

Wait.

Did I just hear…Thomas' voice?

_Thomas?_

Speaking with _Mr. Branson?_

With nobody about, I slowly crept as near as I dared, perched carefully on the other side of the doorframe.

"Thank you for sparing the time. I feel I must apologize for my behavior yesterday. I was unkind. And I'm sorry," came Branson's steady voice.

There was a beat of silence (how on earth was Thomas going to respond to this?) when suddenly:

"Not at all, Mr. Branson. I think you will agree that I shoulder the blame, not you." His voice suggested anything but sincerity.

Smirked. Typical.

"No, it wasn't your fault. I haven't been myself since… Well. Since things have changed. I confess, I don't much fit in down here anymore. But nor do I upstairs." There was a brief pause, and I felt a pang of sympathy for poor Mr. Branson, hearing the lost emotion in his voice. "I don't have a place anymore—not in this house, at least—and I'm sorry for intruding on all of you down here. I only meant to be kind." His voice had turned brittle, as if he didn't have the strength for the weight of the words he relayed.

Another pause.

Oh, I could only IMAGINE what snarky little comment was going to come out of Thomas' mouth. I bet it was going to be absolute—

"Don't apologize. You may find it a surprise, Mr. Branson, but I am not altogether unsympathetic. I…understand your position."

Wait, what?

"Not in the exact way, but I do understand what it's like to fit neither here nor there. We…may not have seen eye to eye in the past, but I do not wish such a position on anyone." Thomas' voice sounded as if it were suffocating—as it always does whenever he tries to communicate his unwanted emotions.

"Indeed? Well." Heard a humorless laugh emit from Mr. Branson. "I suppose we're a pair of misfits."

"So it would seem."

"Well," concluded Branson, voice regaining its usual timbre, "I've taken up enough of your time. I will do my best to keep out of your way, Mr. Barrow. Good day."

Was just about to sneak off before Mr. Branson caught me, when I heard a suspiciously un-bitter voice call out:

"Mr. Branson."

Pause. (I presume the aforementioned turned around)

"I see no harm in having a bit of tea with some old friends. And lord knows I wouldn't mind being the only black sheep in this basement."

Heard another short laugh from Mr. Branson, this time genuine. "I'll take this as an invitation then, Mr. Barrow?"

Oh, he's going to say something smart now. And then Branson will get cross and—

"You could call it that, yes."

What the bloody fuck?

Despite the obvious bewildered amusement in his tone, Mr. Branson's "Thank you," was filled with heartfelt sincerity. "Until next time?"

"Until next time," Thomas' professional tone concluded.

Am speechless.

Thomas invited Mr. Branson to tea again? _The_ Mr. Branson? When he almost lost it because he dared to show his face the first time?

And why on earth does Mr. Branson act as though he needs permission from someone like Thomas? He's just the under-butler. Is he so insecure that he needs everybody to like him before he can hang about properly?

Thought I liked Mr. Branson. But perhaps I was wrong.

11:47 pm

Things have gone from bad to worse.

Wasn't sure whether or not to meet with Thomas outside tonight, after the locked door of last night. Still, found my feet leading me to him, my heart already beating irregularly in agony.

He was sitting outside, head bent low, a stream of smoke spewing from his mouth.

"Hello, Thomas."

He didn't reply, just brought the cigarette back to his lips.

Now, Jimmy. Whatever you do, do NOT bring up the fact that you heard his conversation with Mr. Branson.

"I heard you speaking with Mr. Branson."

DAMMIT.

Immediately, his head shot up, eyes set in an annoyed glare, crimson lips forming a snarl. "Of course you did."

Was startled. Why was he so angry? What had I done? I only listen because I have a right to know.

"Are you friends with him now, then?"

"What?"

"Are you friends? You invited him to tea again. If that doesn't say friends, I don't know what does." Knew that I was out of order and reacting irrationally (only because he'd been toying with my emotions for the past two weeks) but couldn't stop myself. Felt good to express something other than silence.

He brought a tired hand to his face and began rubbing his temples. "I am not in the mood for this."

"I deserve to know."

"Oh?" He was now looking up, eyes clear and absolutely terrifying. "And why's that?"

For a thousand different reasons, you stupid, bloody, insensitive git.

Could not voice one of those reasons however, and settled instead for a pained stare as a response.

After a few beats of silence—where his eyes searched me in their cuttingly superior manner—he stood up, and for the first time, I saw through the casts of moonlight the sleep deprivation in his eyes, the stress in his forehead, and the misery hidden in the corners of his mouth.

"You need to stop acting like you bloody own me," he said, voice beginning to crack.

"And you need to stop acting like I'm nothing."

We stared at each other, daring the other to break.

"Did you write me that Valentine?" I heard my voice ask, seemingly out of nowhere. (Was it my voice? I don't even know. It was as if some power had taken ahold of me.)

I never dared to even _dream_ of asking this. And here, I just had.

The air began to suffocate.

Clearly caught off guard, Thomas blinked. "What?"

"Did you write me that Valentine?" I repeated, voice strong. I marveled at my own newfound courage.

"That's neither here nor there."

"I need to know, Thomas."

"Did you write me a Valentine?" he countered.

Silence.

Why the hell did he have to say that?

Feeling a burning in my skin, I could only stare back at him.

Recognizing the hopelessness of the situation, Thomas closed his eyes, and let out a long, saddened sigh. He looked so tired and small, wrapped in his jacket, almost buried within the darkness, only his pale skin serving as proof of his existence.

"Jimmy," he began, voice quiet.

I waited with bated breath, fearing his next words.

Don't say it, Thomas. Don't say what I think you're going to say.

"I can't… I just can't do this any longer."

A thousand brick walls collapsed onto me.

No.

No.

"Thomas," I began, feeling a weakness in my knees and a sickness in both stomach and heart.

He shook his head. "I just need time to myself."

I stared at him, at a complete loss.

How could he say this? After everything, how could he say this? Just because I asked him about Branson?

"Please," he added in a fragile voice, at my silence.

All at once, upon hearing his quiet, miserable plea of freedom from our friendship, I broke. Inwardly, outwardly, I broke.

Would loved to have stormed off in a vicious strut or sniffed my indifference and calmly sauntered away.

Instead, I screeched out a, "I want nothing to do with you," and scrambled to the door, terrified by my own pain.

Was it supposed to hurt this much?

Is this normal? Or is something terribly, terribly wrong?

Either way, Diary.

I don't know what to do.

Mar 14

6:33 am

Haven't spoken to Thomas since he decided he was suddenly too good for me and decided that Branson would make a better best mate.

Is no matter to me.

Yes, my heart may ache every second of every day, my insides feel like a hollowed out shell of despair and anguish, and my mind may be filled with piercing memories of how his skin felt against mine, but is no matter to me.

I will not crumble just because I've fallen in love with a soulless demon who has taken my love, disfigured it, and then thrown it in a pit. Then shot it.

Have been keeping to myself and refusing to think or write about Thomas and I plan on sticking with this technique.

Even if Branson did come back yesterday for tea, and he and Thomas chattered till the cows came home, leaving Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes to shoot bewildered and alarmed glances at each other, while O'Brien watched them like a judgmental bitchy hawk, and everybody else pretended like nothing was out of the norm.

Even if, on my way out, I overheard Branson suggesting that Thomas and him have lunch at the Grantham Arms sometime.

No, I didn't cry for hours after that.

I didn't drop a green bean in Branson's hair at dinner.

I didn't spit on Thomas' doorknob.

And I did not write down when they planned to meet for lunch.

Coincidentally, they're going today. At 12:30. Which, coincidentally, is the same time I've asked Carson if I could go to town to fetch some shoe polish.

12:10 pm

Just overheard Thomas asking leave of Mr. Carson so he can meet up with Branson for lunch. (Not that he told Carson that. I suspect he would die on the spot if he knew what Thomas was up to.)

Time to get some shoe polish.

12:22 pm

"Where are you off to? The Dowager's in for tea at any minute!" Mrs. Patmore shouted as I was putting on my cap and jacket.

"Mr. Carson's let me run to the village. Alfred can manage, can't you, Alfred?"

He nodded. "Course I can."

Smiled at Mrs. Patmore. "I'll be back before you know it, so don't go missing me," I warned.

"On you go," she shooed, unimpressed.

And now I'm off.

12:37 pm

Have arrived at the Grantham Arms. Do not want to go inside, as it would be too risky. Thomas must not see me.

12:41 pm

Have found the perfect window to peer in.

They're both already here. Those smug bastards.

12:44 pm

Thomas is laughing.

I can't believe it.

It took months for me to see him laugh.

I am going to die.

12:49 pm

Branson is laughing now, too.

Isn't he supposed to be in mourning?

12:59 pm

They're eating now. They're eating and they're smiling, and they're enjoying their time together.

What is this world coming to? Wasn't it just the other week that Thomas was banging on about how deceitful Branson was, and how much he despised him?

Am never listening to another word out of that man's mouth again.

1:10 pm

They're done eating now. They're chatting a bit.

Do not like the smile on Thomas' face.

He's supposed to be miserable and alone. Like me.

1:29 pm

Fuck.

Was still perched at me window, watching the two twits chatting about, when suddenly a dirty child walked up to me.

"'Ello, sir," it said, far too loudly for comfort.

I looked at it, unsure if I should respond or just ignore it. I suppose ignoring it could make it worse.

"Hello," I whispered with a narrowing of the eyes.

"What you doin'?"

This child was WAY too bloody loud.

I pressed my finger to my lips. "Shh! Sh! Would you like to play a game?"

Its eyes brightened. "A game?"

I nodded. "Yes. Whoever is the quietest, gets a bag of sweets!"

"…That doesn't sound like a fun game."

"Not with that attitude, it doesn't."

"Why are you hiding? Get up!" it suddenly said, voice growing louder.

Ohgod. I looked through the window. Thomas and Branson still chatting, unawares.

"GET UP!" the child repeated, colliding a foot with my shin.

"Argh!" I screamed, stumbling backwards and knocking into a rubbish bin.

The child began to laugh hysterically—and very loudly—and the panic began to rise within me.

Ohgod. We were making a ruckus. They were going to see us. Thomas was going to find me spying and then he was going to hate me even more.

As I picked myself up, I shot another glance into the window and, to my absolute horror, saw that their chairs were empty.

"Oh bullocks," I blurted, and without another thought, I bolted down the road at full speed.

Can only pray that I was not seen.

Mar 16

9:11 pm

No word from Thomas still.

I guess that means he didn't see me spying on him, after all.

I suppose that's good.

Would be happier about this if I wasn't dead inside.

Mar 17

11:07 am

Thomas hasn't looked at me in days.

I refuse to let myself think about it—for will just end up crying and sneaking food from the kitchens—but I am so horrified and shocked about the whole affair… I just cannot believe it.

How could he treat me this way?

I just don't understand it, Diary.

Want to hate him so badly. But love him. Love him very much, and don't want anybody else. Only want love if it's perfect, Diary, and to me, Thomas is perfect. And I will be neglected of love gladly if I can't have it the right way.

Will never settle for anything less than wonderful. Even if Thomas does act like a hag.

Mar 19

3:13 pm

Have a new mission in life: Whatever I feel, I must not allow it to influence my behavior toward others. Even if it is Alfred. Or Stella.

"Stella wants you to know that she forgives you," Alfred told me as we were killing time in the kitchen.

"What?"

"She forgives you. For being so rude to her all the time."

"I never apologized."

Do not know who is more dumb—Alfred or Stella.

"You didn't have to, you see. She just forgives you."

"But why? I'm not going to stop being rude to that hussy."

"You best stop if you don't want trouble!" he said, apparently trying to appear intimidating. (I'm sorry. But carrots aren't, and never will, be threatening.)

Held back a snort of amusement. "Oh, please, Alfred. There won't be any _trouble_."

"Look, I know you've been having a time of it lately, but you best stop taking it out on other people. Especially my girl."

"And since when have you been the voice of reason?"

He looked at me blankly. "The what?"

Rolled my eyes. "Never mind, then," I muttered under my breath. "Look, I can't promise anything—your girl's as smart as a broomstick—but…I'll…. _try_ to be a little more forgiving."

"That's all I ask," Alfred nodded.

Was almost beginning to feel a sort of sympathy for Alfred, when he suddenly nudged me. "Oi, you know, I think Ivy's jealous."

"Ivy? What?"

He nodded, a big dumb grin on his face. "I think she's jealous of Stella and I. I expect she fancies me."

I stared at him for almost a full minute before I just walked away. I sincerely believe that boy doesn't have a brain.

Still, though. Perhaps I should be a little kinder.

More to Stella than Alfred, at least.

5:38 pm

I wonder if Thomas is still friends with Branson?

I hate him.

6:17 pm

Ohgod. Just bumped into Thomas. Literally.

Was heading downstairs to get the dessert, head bent and lost in thought, when I bounced off of a chest.

"Watch it," I muttered angrily, expecting it to be Alfred. Then I looked up. "…Oh."

Thomas stared down at me, eyes tight. "James."

Silence.

"You…best watch yourself."

"Sorry."

His eyes burned into mine.

"You alright?" he asked, somewhat awkwardly, taking in my appearance (which I'm sure was haggardly).

Felt a jolt of annoyance. Did he honestly have to point out that I wasn't looking my best? "What's it to you?" I shot back, giving a glare.

He fell silent and looked down, very visibly uncomfortable. "Be a bit more careful, alright?" he finally said, eyes glancing at me for the briefest of seconds.

Ignored him and kept on my way.

Miss him, but hate him when he treats me as if I were a stranger.

I refuse to participate in this act he insists upon.

Mar 20

10:19 pm

Have been reading past entries in my diary. Of when Thomas and I took beautiful walks in the snow. Of when Thomas came to my room to apologize. Of when I wrote him a Valentine under his pillow.

Have been crying for an hour.

Cannot believe that Thomas and I no longer speak.

How could this have happened to us?

Mar 21

4:31 pm

I hate myself and I hate the world. I think I hate the world more.

No, I hate myself more.

Actually, I hate Branson more.

Was in the servants' hall by my lonesome, sipping tea and dreaming of a better world, when I heard two male voices drifting down the hall.

Two distinct male voices.

Mr. Branson.

And Thomas.

Couldn't face them. Absolutely could not face them. Would probably end up crying or pelting my teacup at one of their heads.

But how could I escape? And what were they talking about?

As their voices neared, and I began to hear bits and pieces of their conversation (they were discussing cricket, of all things) I panicked.

So I slid underneath the table.

"You really don't like cricket?" I heard Branson ask, amused, as his footsteps neared.

Fuck. O fuck. Maybe I shouldn't have done this. How on earth were they going to miss the fully grown man beneath the table?

As long as they don't sit down, I have a fighting chance.

"Not a bit," answered Thomas, slipping into the chair opposite me. Fuck.

Ohgod. There he was. Right in front of me.

One kick and I'd be discovered.

"But you're so good at it," Branson mused, taking the seat next to him. (He honestly couldn't have moved down a space? He had to sit directly NEXT to Thomas? This man is repulsive.)

"His Lordship would agree with you," Thomas said with a smirk in his voice that made my blood boil and sing.

Heard Branson snort. "Don't I know it. I got an earful on that subject."

Oh, you two are just so funny.

"When's your next half-day, then?" Branson asked.

My muscles tensed.

"A week from today. May as well be a year away," Thomas muttered, probably in reference to the extra demands Carson's been putting on him lately.

"Having a hard time of it down here?"

"No harder than usual."

There was an appreciative laugh from Branson, before he said, "Well, then. I expect a day away from this place would do you good. You can accompany me to one of the farms I'm going to look at, if you like. I could use the company."

Almost punched a hole through the table.

They're going to go to a _farm_ together?

 _Just_ the two of them?

_Alone?_

Amongst _fields_ and _flowers_?

That's MY dream!

I HATE BRANSON.

"I could use some fresh air," Thomas said—and I know the bastard was smiling—before he crossed his legs. As he did so, slowly bringing up his left foot, it, ever so slightly, brushed against my arm.

I froze.

As did he.

"Are you quite alright?" I heard Branson suddenly ask.

Pause.

Fuck.

Shit.

Damn.

Blast.

Bullocks.

No.

"Er—yes. Yes, I'm quite fine. I should return to my duties, however. Carson'll be back at any moment."

Oh fuck. Oh damn. Oh blast. Oh no.

Please don't look under the table. Please don't. Just don't.

"Alright. I should return upstairs anyway. Lord Grantham said he wanted a word." There was obvious amusement in his tone, which was reflected in Thomas' response of:

"Sounds promising."

Almost cried with joy when I saw both figures stand up.

Almost cried even more when I heard their footsteps retreat.

And then they were gone!

That was close, Diary. CLOSE.

Am never. Never EVER. Hiding under the table again to eavesdrop. Never.

Is too stressful.

And too maddening.

10:37 pm

Am seething mad with rage.

Was cornered by Thomas after Carson dismissed us to bed.

Had been sitting at the piano, and was just about to trudge upstairs, when the evil shadow himself appeared before me, arms stiff at his sides, a superior glower darkening his features.

Splendid. Could already feel my heart oozing.

"Yes?" I asked tiredly.

"Why were you eavesdropping today?"

Oh shit.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Jimmy," came the warning.

"You can't prove I was," I said, turning away.

"I can. My foot collided with you, didn't it."

"And why on earth would you just assume that was me? Of all the things your foot could have hit, why would you automatically assess that it must be me, sitting beneath the table?" I said hotly, turning to look at him with as fierce a glare as I could muster.

"Well it wasn't Isis, was it?"

"That doesn't mean it was me!"

"Your reaction alone tells me it was you. And I saw your cup."

"My cup?"

"Your teacup, half-drunk and sitting on the table."

"I could have just left it there."

"So it _was_ yours."

"No!"

"Jimmy."

Dammit. Was cornered.

"Well, aren't you so bloody smart," I spat, getting up to leave.

He blocked my way.

"Stop following me and Tom."

Tom?

_Tom?_

TOM?!

Couldn't help it. I exploded.

"OHHHHhhhhh, so you call each other by your first names now, is that right? Oh, well, don't mind me, Thomas. Don't mind me, getting in the way of you and your new bloody best mate. Just forget about me, forget about the fact that I was your closest mate for months, talked to you every day, listened to your problems, wrote you bloody Valentines, helped you in every conceivable way I could, and loved you so bloody unconditionally!"

The fire bloomed within his own eyes. He took a step closer, and hissed, "I certainly wouldn't call it 'unconditionally.'"

Blinked. What? "What are you on about?"

"You only cared for me when we were tucked away in the dark, out of sight. Your _love_ , was only ever there when you had nothing else. You did what you wanted, when you wanted—"

It took every fiber of my being not to scream. Instead, I whispered in the most vehement tone I could manage.

"Don't you dare, Thomas. Don't you bloody dare. _You're_ the one who's run away. _You're_ the one who couldn't do this anymore. I may not be perfect, but do NOT blame me."

Unable to look him in the eye any longer, I left.

How dare he accuse me. How dare he call him Tom. How dare he make me feel this way every single day. Without bloody fail.

I HATE THOMAS BARROW.

10:51 pm

Oh my god.

Oh. My. God.

I just realized.

I confessed to Thomas that I'd written him a Valentine.

….

Kill me. Please.

Just kill me.

Mar 22

12:03 am

Kill me again.

Was in my cocoon of despair, when I heard a knock at me door.

Feeling an intense bout of sickness, I opened the door, fearing that I knew who it was.

Yep.

Thomas.

His eye sockets seemed hollowed, and there was a noticeable tremor in his voice.

"Which one?" he asked, holding a small stack of folded up papers. "Which one is yours?"

They were the bloody Valentines.

Oh god.

He'd heard.

I'd been hoping, praying, that I'd said it too fast for him to catch.

Of course not.

I looked at them all as I attempted—and failed—to swallow away the lump in my throat, immediately recognizing my familiar scrawl. Without looking at him, I gently tapped the corner of it.

"This one."

The look on his face was unreadable.

Was completely humiliated.

Well, I guess now's a good a time as any if we're going to be honest and make a mess of everything.

I took my own crumpled Valentine out of my pocket and unfolded it, laying it face up in my palm. I extended it toward him.

"And this? Did you write this?"

His eyes slid from his own hand to mine. He didn't blink once.

"Yes."

Felt as though I had suddenly climbed Mount Olympus. Adrenaline began to pump through my system as a dizzy spell overcame me.

Could not tell if I was elated or even more miserable.

"I wanted to be kind," he whispered, still staring at the bit of paper in my hand.

"It was kind," I barely managed through shaky breath.

We stood in silence, neither of us daring to look up, our heavy breaths mingling in the stale air of the attic. Felt as though my ears were plugged with cotton, as could only hear my heartbeat, and felt terribly alone, despite Thomas' presence.

As the silence prolonged, I knew in my stomach that nothing more was going to be said. This was the most that we could do. We could confess, we could stare at paper in each other's hands, but we couldn't speak to each other.

This was it.

Tears that had already gathered in the corner of my eye began to slowly slide down the length of my cheek.

"Goodnight, Thomas," I whispered brokenly, eyes unmoving from his hand, concluding our little meeting.

"Goodnight Jimmy."

We stood there for just a moment longer before we both turned, and I closed the door.

Mar 23

6:01 am

Wish I didn't have to get dressed.

Wish I could just walk around in my unmentionables and eat cake.

Mar 24

5:21 pm

Eavesdropped on Thomas and Branson today. (I don't care what Thomas says, I'll do what I want.)

They were talking about that farm they're going to visit.

Had a terrible urge to jump out and scream, "HE SAID TERRIBLE THINGS ABOUT YOU AND HATED YOUR GUTS, YOU MISERABLE WORM!" in Branson's face, but knew that no good would come out of it. So instead I hid in the kitchen and asked Mrs. Patmore if I was ugly.

"I'm not answering a silly question like that. Stop moping about and bring me that sack of flour."

Did as I was told and she pinched my cheek and told me I was a very strapping young man as thanks.

Love Mrs. Patmore, but it doesn't mean much coming from her.

I just find it really obnoxious how Branson is ALWAYS coming downstairs lately. It was one thing before, but now? It's embarrassing. And tacky. And it needs to stop. Or I'm going to lock him in the icebox. Or pull out his hair. Or choke him. Or all of the above.

Mar 25

2:36 pm

…. Just had the strangest talk with Carson.

Was coming back from serving lunch upstairs, when he caught me on the stairs.

"Ah, James. I was hoping to have a word with you."

Oh no. That's never a good sign.

Nodded and followed him into his office, feeling only dread, and remembering a time when I used to be able to count on Thomas to get me out of any scrap of trouble.

He gestured toward the door, and I shut it miserably. Things were looking worse and worse by the minute.

Slowly, I turned to face him, steeling myself.

Alright. Let's do this.

"It has come to my attention that you've been acting rather oddly as of late."

I stared. Excuse me?

"Do you care to explain why?" he asked neatly, hands folded and eyebrows patient.

What?

"Er—I'm sorry, Mr. Carson, I didn't realize I was acting oddly."

"Oh. Are you…not?" he asked somewhat awkwardly, looking unsure of himself.

What was going on?

"Well, I don't believe so," I said, suspicious, confused, and scared.

"You haven't been…upset? Or overworked? Or in need of…someone to talk to?" The words were of obvious distaste to him, and seemed repeated, as if they'd been suggested by someone else entirely….

"Has Mr. Barrow said something in regards to my behavior?" I asked, taking a chance and following instinct.

Mr. Carson blinked, obviously taken aback. "Why, yes. He has. How did you know?"

There we go.

I sighed, and looked away, unable to stop my heart from swelling at the fact that the bastard at least cared enough to enquire about me. Even if he wasn't actually enquiring.

"Because he likes to stick his nose where it doesn't belong."

"I dare say he is merely looking out for your best interests."

"I'm sure."

"Even so," Carson continued, shooting me a warning look, "if something is bothering you, you can always come to one of your superiors."

"I'm fine, thank you, Mr. Carson," I said, feeling increasingly uncomfortable.

He took a moment to inspect me, doubt ridden in his brows, before he nodded slowly.

"You may go."

I left, mind clouded.

So. Thomas sent Mr. Carson to check up on me.

He's given me up, moved on, and still…he thinks of me in some small way. At least he cares enough to keep an eye out.

Maybe it really is over, Diary. Just as Thomas has concluded, so I should conclude: though we care for each other—in whatever way—we will never work. We just won't. We can think of each other, check on each other, hope for the wellbeing of the other, but we cannot go back to what we were before.

Before I ruined everything with my callous and bestial ways.

He's right. I need to stop obsessing over him and Branson. Branson may be an evil, plotting, man-stealer, but it is no longer my concern. No longer my business.

I need to let Thomas go.

Once and for all.

Mar 27

10:00 pm

It seems Thomas and Branson are becoming ever closer. Saw them chatting in the servants' hall again, but didn't stop to listen. Busied myself in the kitchen instead, and chatted with Daisy and Ivy.

"Whatever happened to your sweetheart?" Ivy asked, sorting vegetables.

Another crack in the heart.

"Oh. Well. It just didn't…work," I finished lamely. Noticing their pitying looks, I cleared my throat and smiled. "No matter. There are plenty more fish in the sea."

"And you're young yet," Daisy reminded with a smile.

"As are you. There's no need to speak as though you were an eighty year old," I teased, attempting a genuine smile.

"He's right. You're not the Dowager," Ivy giggled.

"It's true! Say what you will about me, but you've plenty of time to find another girl." Daisy paused, inspecting my face. "But are you sure you're alright?"

I nodded. "We all survive, don't we?"

She nodded in return, but didn't look altogether convinced. "You can always talk to me, if it's a problem."

No, I cannot.

Smiled still. "Thank you Daisy."

Wish I could, Diary. Wish I could talk to _someone_. Someone wise, who I could trust.

But who?

10:15 pm

Oh, hold it.

Anna!

Of course!

She's guided me once, she can guide me again! With her help, I will be able to move on from my love of Thomas.

Have to, or else I might day from the stress and pain of the whole situation. Do not want to die young. Not when I have so much to offer.

Mar 29

7:10 pm

Have not had a chance to speak with Anna yet.

Have been more preoccupied avoiding Alfred and Stella, who are becoming an unbearable, soppy mess. (Proof that the world is evil: Alfred has found love and I am forever alone.) Often find them in the servants' hall, sitting in the corner, arguing.

"I love you more."

"No, I love you more!"

"No, I love YOU more!"

"No, I love YOU more!"

If I had a hammer, Diary…

Mar 31

6:51 am

As if things couldn't get more confusing.

Opened my door to head downstairs, and discovered Thomas, mid-knock.

The sight of him, so close, winded me. Made me sick and mad and self-conscious. But mostly, it made me miss him and all the times he's made me laugh and feel that the world had more to offer. (And maybe missed his pretty lips and warm hands as well.)

"Thomas," I said, more out of surprise than greeting.

"Jimmy," he said, sounding just as awkward, eyes large and strangely alight.

I stared at him, waiting for some sort of explanation.

He can't expect to just show up at my door and pretend everything's fine when he'd just dropped me off of the face of the earth and destroyed my emotional vitality. And probably took a good year or two off of my life. And don't get me STARTED on what he's done to my figure. Thank the lord I've been slimming back down, or he'd have a sad, fat boy on his conscience.

"I was…merely wondering if Mr. Carson has spoken to you."

Oh. This.

"He has. And I know you put him up to it."

He swallowed and looked down, lightly tapping the toe of his boot against the doorframe. "What did you tell him?"

"What do you mean?"

"What did you say when he asked if you were alright?"

Oh, please. Was this his pathetic, wormy way of showing concern? He didn't even have the courage to ask me personally?

Is one thing to send Carson to look after me.

Is another to use Carson to get at me.

"I responded in the way I thought best. I should be getting downstairs now."

He didn't move.

"Are you alright?" he finally asked, looking back up to me.

Mentally shielded myself from those penetrating eyes. "I'm not going to answer that. Not from you."

He stood there, obviously upset, unable to maintain any of the poise or indifference that had become so characteristic of him.

Would have been moved by such emotion, but could only think of how he'd left me behind.

"I need to go downstairs," I insisted again.

Another nod, and he stepped out of the way, eyes sad.

Couldn't help it—felt my heart tear as I walked past him.

"I'm sorry, Jimmy."

I froze upon hearing the quiet words.

Had I imagined them?

Daring to turn around, I found his tortured face peering back at me.

All anger dissipated.

Is the hardest thing in the world to see the one you love suffer. Even if it is a little deserved.

"I'm sorry, too," I said, the words making me ill. It felt so much like goodbye. Didn't want goodbye. I couldn't have goodbye.

He nodded, as if finding closure, and allowed me to walk on.

Now I don't know what to do.

All I know is that this cannot be the end.

7:41 am

Must speak to Anna today.

1:21 pm

Why is Anna always with Bates? What the hell?

4:10 pm

Finally got Anna alone.

She was in the servants' hall, mending one of Lady Mary's coats that her stomach had burst through.

"Anna? Could I talk to you for a moment?" I asked quietly.

She looked up, that inviting smile of hers present. "Of course."

As soon as I settled in the chair next to her, she set down the coat, peering at me. "I don't suppose this has to do with that little conversation we were having before? About things not working out so smoothly?"

I nodded.

Her smile became more sympathetic (if that was possible). "Alright, then. What seems to be the problem?"

"Well, as I said, I…I ruined things. I did. And it became difficult. And…we never spoke about it. And now, we aren't even speaking at all. And…they don't want to be around me anymore. But I still want to be around…them."

She nodded, listening to each word carefully. "Alright. Well, have you tried speaking to them about how you feel?"

I looked at her fearfully. "Oh, no! No, I couldn't possibly do that!"

"And why's that?"

"Because they don't want to hear what I have to say. I know, Anna, trust me. It wouldn't work well."

"Well, maybe not. But wouldn't you rather know than just sit here, miserable, wondering what on earth you should do next?"

She had a point.

"The way I see it is, it's already a mess of a situation. If you're not speaking with each other, it can't get much worse than that. What's the harm in taking a chance? At least then you can move on." Her voice was gentle, but her words terrifying.

"I don't know if I can do that…"

"Of course you can. Just don't think so much," she smiled, giving me a reassuring squeeze of the hand.

I looked into her eyes, which seemed so clear and simple, and for that one moment, I saw it. I saw the words she spoke, and I saw her optimism.

I can do this.

I can tell Thomas how I feel.

I can.

"You're right, Anna. I can it," I said, nodding.

Her grin grew noticeably.

"Tonight. I'll tell him tonight!"

I didn't realize what I'd said until her eyes widened.

"Er—Him, as in, God. I will tell God tonight, then I will tell the one I love that I love them. Yes, that is the plan."

She continued to stare at me. "Jimmy…" she said disbelievingly, a smile creeping into her voice.

"I best go, but thank you, Anna," I smiled, kissing her on the cheek. "I'll let you know how it goes!"

I sincerely hope she believes that I was talking about God.

Do not need that unnecessary trauma on my hands.

5:05 pm

Am I going to tell Thomas that I love him tonight?

How am I going to do this?

Should I go down on bended knee?

Should I sit?

Stand?

Lay?

Walk?

Should I bring something?

What do I do?

How do I do it?

Ohgod.

This is terrifying.

9:09 pm

I'm so nervous I could die.

I caught Thomas in the hallway.

"I need to speak with you. Tonight."

He pursed his lips, eyes weary. "About what?"

"Just…meet me outside."

I hurried away before he could refuse.

I might be sick before then.

9:31 pm

Everybody's had their dinner. Any minute now, Carson will dismiss us. Then I'll meet with Thomas. And we will speak.

Ohmylord. How do people do this. Is Anna crazy? Is she a masochist? This is horrible. How am I going to survive this? This is torture.

9:45 pm

Carson's just dismissed us.

I'm going to collapse.

Wish me luck, Diary.

10:04 pm

Have been crying uncontrollably.

Am in the middle of packing my bags.

It was horrible, Diary.

It was absolutely horrible.

As soon as I got outside, my nerves skyrocketed, rendering me near useless as I could barely stand and had a desperate urge to dry heave.

Upon seeing Thomas, who was actually already waiting outside, I felt a combination of relief and ice-cold terror.

"Thomas," I practically squeaked, walking up to him.

He stood up almost immediately, staring full on at me. "Well then. What's this about?"

Ohgod. Ohgod.

Speak, Jimmy. Speak smooth.

"Thomas. I have to tell you…something."

He nodded. "So I've gathered."

"Okay."

He waited.

Ohgod. Ohgod.

What are words?

Could I run away? Could I get away with doing that? Would he catch me?

"Alright. Alright, Thomas. I…have to tell you something."

He was now looking at me almost worryingly. "Yes… You've already said that."

Indeed I had. Okay. Here we go.

"So. It's like… There's a block of cheese, alright?"

Silence.

Oh god.

Oh no.

What was I saying?

Cheese?!

"And," I continued, mind separate from my mouth, "I've been eating this block of cheese for a very long time. But, see, I'd always assumed I didn't like cheese, you know?"

He blinked, then nodded very slowly.

"Well, one day, while I'm gnawing on this block of cheese, I suddenly realize, it's cheese!"

Staring at me.

"And, I'm completely in shock. Because, all this time, I've secretly loved cheese! And I didn't realize it! But I've loved cheese this whole time! And it makes me a little sick, and sometimes I puke because of it, and it's made my life impossibly difficult, but I love cheese, Thomas. I really do. And I always will. And I cannot deny my love for that cheese any longer."

I was met with a blank stare.

"T-thomas," I began, voice barely there. My head swam. Ohgod. "You are the block of cheese."

The blank stare continued.

"I beg your pardon?"

"You are my giant block of cheese that I've been gnawing on," I clarified.

Silence.

Was this romantic enough? Did I do it right? Did he understand?

Should I not have used cheese as a metaphor?

"Jimmy…" he suddenly began, face completely void of emotion. "…What?"

"Thomas, you're my—"

"I know, I know," he interjected. "I'm your block of cheese. But what does that mean? I make you sick? You thought you hated me until you realized it was too late? Your life is miserable because of me? You're telling me that I'm nothing but a chunk of dairy that you seem to have found yourself stuck with, and desire to fill yourself with for as long as you please?"

What? No—

"You told me to come out here to tell me _this?_ "

"I'm telling you how I feel!" I insisted, walking toward him.

"But why? Terrible love declaration aside, why on earth would you do that? You know we can't be together. We can't—let's not fool ourselves. It's dangerous, it's foolish, we get on each other's nerves all of the time! We don't understand each other—"

"Yes we do!" I cried, my heart quivering in fear, ready to burst into a bloody mess. I took another step toward him, only wishing to grab his hands in mine and convince him how perfect we could be.

"I can't risk it," he said, shaking his head, taking three steps back. "We've already pushed the limit, and have gotten very, very lucky."

"But there's a way!"

"I don't want you, Jimmy!" he suddenly burst, voice solid and very, very done with the conversation.

I stopped.

Oh god.

What?

He didn't…want me?

What?

But Anna said…

Anna said it couldn't get any worse. This was worse.

This was much worse.

He stared at me, his face morphing into a plethora of emotions. He then brought his hand to face, covering his eyes.

"Jimmy…" he began, but I didn't want to hear it. Not one word.

Without a second glance or thought, I was back inside, headed up to me room.

Cannot stay here, Diary. Cannot, will not.

Cannot work side by side with Thomas when am so in love that it feels there is something physically wrong with me. Cannot pass him in the halls knowing what I know, knowing what we've done, and knowing the emptiness he feels in return.

Cannot, Diary.

I'm leaving. I can't explain to Carson or Mrs. Hughes. I can't even bear to stay the night. It may ruin me, but as far as I've seen it, am already ruined.

I'll get by. I always do. I just need to get as far away from Thomas Barrow as I possibly can.

11:58 am

Diary.

Amidst my flowing tears and suffering, I managed to pack all my possessions. I stuffed shirts, belts, shoes, lotions, blankets, and everything else in every bag I could procure.

I turned out the lights, never looked back, and made my way through the darkness of Downton Abbey.

Heard each of my footsteps echo against the cold, silent walls, and realized, through the haze of immense woe, that this would be the last time I would walk these stairs, hear these echoes.

No more Carson, no more Alfred, no more Stella, no more Ivy, no more Daisy, no more Mrs. Patmore, not more Anna, no more Mrs. Hughes, no more Bates, no more O'Brien, no more Molesley.

No more Thomas.

Felt an added misery at this thought—must have grown attached to the place without my noticing—and quickened my pace further.

Finally, I opened the doors to freedom.

As I had taken the servants' exit, I was immediately met with Thomas' smoking spot, our nauseating conversation still fresh in the air.

Not a star was in the sky as I stalked onward, refusing to think further than the moment.

Was just beginning to regain a sense of calm in the cool night air when:

"Where are you going?"

Instantly froze.

What was he doing here?

The figure before me stood tall, one hand stuffed in the pocket of his jacket, the other holding a dimly lit cigarette at his side.

Well. Best get this conversation over as quickly as possible.

"I'm leaving," I said in a steady monotone, beginning to walk again.

He stepped in my path.

"Leaving for where?"

"Anywhere. Everywhere."

His eyes slid to my bags. A light panic began to fill his eyes, I noted with satisfaction.

"What the bloody hell has gotten into you?"

"I'm leaving this place. Nothing you say's going to stop me." I began to walk.

Once again, he blocked my path.

"You can't leave."

"I can."

"What will you do for a job? You'll have no reference."

"I'll find work. I always do."

"And what if you don't?"

"I will." I stared ahead, face hard, refusing to acknowledge him any more than I had to.

"Don't."

"I'll do as I please."

"You're being ridiculous."

"Don't you dare speak to me about being ridiculous!" I hissed, bringing my eyes up to his.

He stared back, at an obvious loss for words. "You're serious, then."

I nodded, hoisting my bag further onto my back for emphasis.

He swallowed, staring down at me, and through the darkness I could see that, for once, his face was completely unguarded. I saw every line of pain and fear written across his pallid skin, and if my heart hadn't just been pulverized by the bastard, I would have fallen more in love.

"Please don't go."

I swallowed. The remains of my heart quivered, just barely.

"I have to."

"No you don't. You can't go. I don't want you to go." Who was this person?

"Yes you do. You said so yourself—you can't do this anymore. And neither can I. I'm doing this for the both of us, Thomas. Not just for me, you see," I managed, and through the hard exterior of my tone, there burst a tiny ray of wavering emotion. I cleared it away immediately.

"If it's me that you're thinking of, then the best thing that you can do is to put those bloody bags down, and go back inside. With me."

My pulse quickened. "But that's not what you want."

He sighed, not bothering to hide his exasperation. "Of course that's what I bloody want, you fool. You mean more to me than anything in this bloody world—you know that!"

"No, I don't, Thomas! You may think I do, but I don't! How am I supposed to know that when you tell me you want nothing to do with me? When I tell you how I feel about you, and you tell me that you don't want me? I can't read your bloody mind!"

"And I can't read yours! You're just as bad—if not worse! You're always running away, what am I supposed to do? Have another mess on my hands if it all goes wrong? Be ousted of the only job that will have me? Thrown into prison? How can I be sure of you if you're always running away? If you never speak to me about ANYTHING?!" His voice was impassioned, in a way I'd never heard before, and his whole face and body was electric—sparking, crackling, and burning bright.

Was the most refreshing thing I had ever experienced.

A real life Thomas.

"But I tried to speak to you tonight!" I protested.

"You called me a block of CHEESE!"

"I was scared!"

"So was I!"

We stared at each other, absolutely terrified.

Had Thomas said those horrible things because he was scared? He rejected me because he didn't know what else to do?

Had I really been that unreliable to him?

Feeling overwhelmingly confused and bewildered, I took a step toward him, voice dwindling to almost a whisper.

"Thomas. Did you mean it when you said you didn't want me?"

He stepped closer as well, eyes softening into beautiful blue tides. "Of course I didn't." He took another step toward me, our jackets brushing together, his head bent toward mine. "As much as I may wish it sometimes…of course it isn't true."

"Thomas," I said again, feeling my heart begin to beat, the broken pieces within me slowly reassembling. "Are you saying that…I am your block of cheese?"

The earnestness within his lips was immediately cracked by a wide grin, a half-laugh escaping him. He looked back to me, his hand coming up to rest on my cheek. (ohmygod I love his hands) "Yes, Jimmy. You are my block of cheese."

My heart almost burst through my chest.

I smiled, greater than I'd ever smiled before, as I looked up into the most beautiful man in the world's face—the most beautiful man who had just told me that he felt the same way, too.

Had I died? Was this heaven? Did not know that a feeling could be so perfect, that emotions could be so wonderful, and did not know that another person's smile held the secret to the world.

The mere fact that his hand was still on my cheek had me dying.

"I'm sorry about everything. About trying to be rid of you. It was just…difficult. I thought I was doing the right thing. I thought it was best for you," he said simply, rubbing his thumb along my jaw line. (ohmylord)

"You tosser. Never do what you think is best for me."

"I promise that I won't ever again."

I grinned in response, daring to believe that this wasn't all some great bloody joke Thomas was playing on me.

"So, it's that simple then?" I asked, my hands reaching out to grip into the fabric of his jacket. "I care about you, you care about me…and we're alright? It's that simple?"

"For us, it can be. Yes, it's that simple."

"I guess I'll be staying, then. I suppose," I smiled weakly, daring to wrap my arms around his beautifully solid and real waste. (This wasn't a dream, right?)

"I think that's best," he nodded, his smirk and silken voice blanketing the warmth of his words.

"But you better be nice to this block of cheese. No more trying to get rid of me, you hear? And no hiding, no lying! And next time you leave me the most beautiful Valentine in the world, leave your name, please, so I know who to send a 'Thank You' note to. Common decency, that is."

His smirk widened into a smile and he began to tuck bits of my hair behind my ear. Felt like heaven. I knew I loved my hair for a reason. "I could say the same to you, you know."

True.

"Alright, then. It's a mutual promise." I paused. "And one other thing."

"And what would that be?" he breathed sweetly.

"It can't be like before," I warned, wagging a disciplinary finger in his face. "No more funny business. I mean it—not a thing. We're going to do this proper like."

"I completely agree."

…

He completely agreed?

"What do you mean you _completely_ agree?" I asked, removing my arms from his waste and crossing them over my chest. "Don't you like the funny business? Are you saying I'm undesirable?"

He was perched on the line between amused and utterly exasperated. "Do you know what I find fascinating? How you can manage to appear so very confident on the surface, when in actuality, you are a complete shambles on the inside."

"You watch who you're calling a shambles," I muttered, my resolve melting away at his touch as his other arm gripped me closer to him.

"I'm already watching you, James," he smiled through a smirk, and leaned his lips against mine.

Was perfect, Diary. Is perfect.

After the most beautiful kiss in the world—one that made the stars sneak out from their hiding spots and left my lips abuzz—he took my bags from me, and we walked back inside.

Together, we unpacked my belongings (during which, I received some very choice comments about my packing skills—or, should I say, lack thereof) and, despite the haze of sleep that was looming above us, was the most perfect moment of my life. Even better than when I was named the best looking boy of my class.

At long last, everything was back in its place.

"Well, that took long enough," he muttered, looking a little worse for wear.

Smiled as I brought a hand up to his silken onyx hair. Is so soft. "Someone's a bit knackered, aren't they?"

His eyes closed as I ran my fingers through his satin tresses (is true, Diary. Will never say this about anyone else, for only Thomas has actual satin tresses) and I could see the utter exhaustion threatening to overcome him.

"Perhaps you should stay here tonight—just to sleep," I added instantly, giving him a sharp eye as he blinked awake.

He sighed, looking around the room. "I'm not sure if it would be wise."

"I'll wake you up early," I offered, eyes darting between his hair and his face.

"I would be delighted to stay," he breathed, hanging his head low to rest on my shoulder. Couldn't help but sniff his smooth, pearly neck. I love necks. I love Thomas' neck. "But it's best not to risk anything on the first night we've promised to do things proper," his muffled voice reasoned through my shoulder.

Hated that he had a point, as I feel that my bed would be much more comfortable if it was shared with a tall, dark, and insanely attractive man.

Oh well. Life is cruel.

"You have a point. I regret to say."

He brought his head back up, and smiled through the sleep. "Goodnight Jimmy Kent."

I grinned. "Goodnight, Thomas Barrow."

Eyes lidded and uncharacteristically affectionate (am realizing that I love relationship Thomas), he leaned down, and placed the softest whisper of a kiss on my wanting-more-of-a-kiss-than-that lips. Still, I savored the mere fact that my darling Thomas was even kissing me in the first place (dreams come true!) and couldn't resist nudging my nose the littlest bit into his cheek and fluttering my eyelashes against his skin, procuring a hint of a laugh from him.

"Till tomorrow," he whispered as he extricated himself, opening the door quietly.

"Till tomorrow," I repeated, my happiness threatening to seep from of my pores.

With one last teasing smile, he shut the door.

Cannot wait until tomorrow, Diary. Feel certain that April will be the most amazing month of my life.

And even if it's not, will have Thomas.

Can you die of happiness?


	8. April

The Diary of Jimmy Kent

April

Apr 1

6:21 am

Mornings are beautiful.

For the first time, I have woken up smiling. SMILING. Me!

Today is the first day of my life, Diary. Because my life is beginning with Thomas, and our love will transcend time and inspire wars!

Well. Perhaps not wars. Songs. Our love will inspire songs. Though that doesn't quite have the same ring to it….

No matter.

The point is, I am a butterfly, freshly emerged from its cocoon of despair. And now I will spread my wings and fly, feeding from the sweet nectar that is Thomas.

(Can only hope that Thomas never looks in my diary. Suspect he would not be best pleased to discover I've called him nectar.)

6:23 am

Did I mention that Thomas and I are in love?

Because we are.

6:25 am

Hang on.

… We've never actually said "I love you."

…

Does it still count?

6:26 am

Oh no. What if it doesn't? What if he just likes me? What if he never grows to love me? What if it's already over?

Has the cheese rotted away?

6:27 am

Stop it, Jimmy.

6:59 am

OH DIARY, I FEEL THAT I WILL NEVER STOP SMILING OR SINGING OR SKIPPING! (Not to suggest I skip. Have done no such thing.)

I will never have to worry about Thomas' feelings for me ever again!

Was just leaving to go downstairs, when I stepped on a small bit of folded paper in front of my door. Picked it up, fearing it was my Valentine and it had been trampled (is in such a fragile state already), and unfolded it with great care.

_Good morning, you ridiculous boy._

_I hope you've had adequate rest because I need you to do something. Please sign on the line below_.

Already beaming beyond belief, my eyes slid downward to the next small chunk of neatly scrawled text.

_I, _ , hereby solemnly swear to never again attempt to run away in the dead of night. As I am not a thief, convict, or The Gingerbread Man, it is vastly unnecessary and very, very tedious. I will also bow to my superiors._

Felt my smile stiffen slightly upon reading the last bit (love Thomas but would rather bow to a toilet) but dug through my pocket nonetheless, searching for my special pen.

With a sweeping hand, I signed the tiny, crumpled contract, scratching out the last sentence in a purposely untidy way.

Grinning like a loon—and making sure nobody was about—I tucked it under his door, before bounding down the stairs.

I love life, life loves Jimmy, I love Thomas, and Thomas loves me!

Nothing could spoil my happiness.

9:09 am

Why hasn't Alfred been sacked?

Had bounded down the stairs to the basement, smiling to every passerby—even the hallboys who technically don't exist—and waltzed into the kitchen, breathing in the lovely scent of bread and sweets as I smiled grandly.

"Good morning, my fellow staff!" I announced grandiosely, unable to resist an exaggerated and flourished bow.

Daisy giggled almost immediately from her corner by the dead chickens.

"Ohhh, he's back to his good spirits!"

"No more devil on your back, Jimmy?" Ivy smiled, dotting a frosted tart with berries.

Just a Thomas on my back, and I've no intention of changing that anytime soon.

"I don't know what you mean, Ivy," I smiled charmingly, enjoying the way her eyes shone in response. (I'm quite remarkable, aren't I?)

"Well, I hope this is here to stay. You're always up and down, you are," Mrs. Patmore tutted, waddling to the stovetop.

"I promise you, it is," I beamed, ignoring the fact that, apparently, everybody regards me as a fragile and temperamental explosive. Am no such thing. Merely have emotions and I merely express them.

Just as Daisy began teasing me again ("Something's got to have cheered you up!") I noticed a tall, ugly, orange stick clomp into the room out of the corner of my eye.

Ah, fuck it. I'm happy, and life is almost as beautiful as Thomas' eyes. I disengaged myself from Daisy's taunts, and turned to the aforementioned subject, grin in place, shoulders squared, hands in pockets.

"And how are you today, Alfred?"

Just like that, everybody stopped. And stared.

(Was that _that_ out of character for me?)

Eyebrows furrowing, Alfred immediately looked over his shoulder, then back. "Who, me?"

Resisted narrowing my eyes. AS IF he didn't know I was talking to him. The ponce. "Yes, of course."

"Well. Er." The whole kitchen was silent as everyone stared between us, Alfred's brain capacity having clearly been reached. "Well, I've chipped me tooth," he finally offered, opening his mouth and thumbing his gums. Ever the poet.

"I see. I'm…sorry to hear that," I said, my smile weakening under the strain of knowing that, no matter what my mood, Alfred will always be a daft sod. "Well, I best get some breakfast. Good morning, Mr. Carson! You're looking very handsome today!" I nearly sang, as I headed into the servants' hall, passing Carson in the hallway, leaving his bulging eyes, perplexed brows, and a "I beg your pardon?" in my wake.

Love today so, so much.

But where is Thomas?

11:21 am

Today is potentially horrible. Today may no longer be beautiful. Life may have gotten awful. Just awful.

After breakfast (which Thomas never came to), I searched every possible room he could be hiding, before stumbling upon Anna, gathering her morning tray in the kitchen.

"Have you seen Mr. Barrow?" I asked unthinkingly.

Oh shit. We're supposed to be secret, we are. Can't be looking for him openly, now can I?

Anna glanced to me, a small smirk playing on her lips. "I'm not sure. Though I can't imagine why you'd want to know." She looked over at me fully. "How did last night go?"

I blanched. Ohmigod.

WHAT.

Can Anna read minds?

"Last night?" I asked coolly, withholding dry heaves.

Eyes twinkling, she offered a short nod. "Yes. I believe when I saw you last, you were about to…tell God about your feelings?"

"God? My feelings? What on ear—OH! Oh, yes, Anna!" I nearly screeched, all blood—too much blood—returning to my face in panicked emotional entrapment. "You have quite the memory, don't you!"

My voice sounded so utterly fake with exaggerated jolliness, I think she may have winced.

"It were only last night," she said, amused. "I hardly need _any_ memory to recall it." With that, and a suspiciously knowing smile and set of eyes, she walked past me, Lady Mary's tray in hand.

What if Anna knows, Diary? The world will crumble. Cannot possibly have a secret relationship with Thomas if it is not secret and we are persecuted for our perfect love!

11:57 am

Today's been saved!

Just ran into Thomas, coming in through the backdoor. He entered with a gust of air, sliding his hat off of his slick hair, wind-blown cheeks pinched with pink, eyes downward and lightly shadowed with fatigue. Could this man look any less stunning?

"Thomas!" I nearly shouted, bounding up to him.

He jumped, eyes shooting up to mine, before darting around the deserted corridor, a secretive, only-for-Jimmy-Kent smile forming.

"Where did you come from?" he asked in quiet, teasing voice, close enough for me to smell the cold that had soaked into his clothes, but too far for any "accidental" hand bumping.

"I've missed you," I whispered, smiling into his calm eyes. "Where have you been all morning?"

"Carson's had me running errands. It's not yet midday and I'm bushed," he grumbled, beginning to shrug off his jacket, and shooting a glare in the direction of Carson's office.

Smiled pityingly—my poor, poor darling—and took his hat from him, allowing him better access to disengage his arms.

"Well, I'm glad you're back." At this he glanced a smile upward before returning to folding his jacket neatly. "I got your note this morning."His smile widened, though his eyes continued to remain on the jacket now slung over his forearm. "I bet you make all the boys you like sign legally binding documents."

"Only the special ones," he reasoned with a smirk, taking his hat back.

I died. Just a little bit.

He said I was special.

He thinks I'm special.

And he's saying it. He's actually standing there, saying it, not just dancing around it amongst smoke and stars, before slipping away.

"You best get back to work, though. Mr. Branson will be having luncheon soon since he's scheduled to tour some farms with Mr. Crawley, and Carson'll be looking for you."

My face fell like a dropped shoe. "Branson," I repeated flatly.

Warning look. " _Mr._ Branson. And yes, he'll be dining early today."

"How do you know this?"

A sigh. "Because he told me."

"When?"

"This morning."

Do not explode, Jimmy. Think. Breathe. Speak. "And h-how did you manage to obtain this information this morning?"

"I ran into him upstairs," he said, nonplussed, eyes emanating 'You are a child and you need to stop.'

But I am not a stopper.

"Oh? You ran into him? And how did you manage that? Were you just running through the halls? Stumbling about until you conveniently landed on Branson and then had a chat about the day?" I asked, my voice taking on new levels of panic and femininity.

With one last drawn out sigh, his eyes returned to me, caught between amusement and exhaustion. Without a moment's notice, he brushed his hand against my cheek before it slid downward and tugged me buttons.

"You're ridiculous," he muttered, taking his leave. "And very beautiful," he whispered in the coil of my ear as he passed me, body brushing fully against mine for the flashest of moments.

Watched him walk away, unsure if I was jealous or in bliss.

Settled on bliss, and glided away.

3:18 pm

Perhaps Alfred is slightly useful. Or at least, more useful than his girl.

We were in the kitchen dropping off the last of today's luncheon, when he said in a low voice:

"Molesley may be leaving Downton."

I blinked. Molesley? Leaving? How could that possibly be so? Wasn't he Mr. Crawley's valet? He couldn't possibly have gotten sacked—he doesn't step a toe out of line.

"Molesley? Are you quite sure?" (It would be far from surprising if Alfred was completely wrong.)

He nodded, the glint of knowing-something-for-once in his eyes. "Stella said she heard him and Mr. Carson speaking about it in his office this morning."

"Surely he's not getting sacked?"

"No. Seems that Mrs. Crawley wants him back at her household. Though from what Stella said, Molesley didn't sound too keen on the idea."

"Well, of course not. He can either be valet to the future Earl of Grantham or the butler to his silly mum. What would you prefer?"

"I wouldn't mind working in a small house, telling other people what to do. Seems simple." (For a simple mind.)

"Well then, perhaps you should apply for the job? And take Stella with you."

"Oi! You said you'd try to be nice to her!" he scolded, his beady eyes glaring unnervingly.

"I am nice," I muttered airily.

And, of course, just at that moment, Stella came sweeping into the kitchen.

"Hi Stella," I greeted in my most disgustingly sugary voice.

She half-smirked at me, giving an instinctive once over. "Hello, Jimmy. Well, don't you look like the blushing bride today."

Bitch is gonna die.

"I beg your pardon?" I said icily, taking a step toward her which warranted me an intensified glare from the walking stick.

She smiled widely, her undeservedly white teeth glinting under the smoky light. "It's good to see you smiling again, is all. Alfred?" she then asked, turning her petite little whore head in his direction, eyes wide with feigned innocence. "Would you like to have some tea with me?"

His grin could have burst off his face. "Oh, absolutely! I'll fix you up—go sit down!"

Another sweet smile was his reward—as was a gentle hand on his arm—and she shot me one last coy look before walking away, her dark chocolate curls bouncing confidently.

If I hate Stella for her better-than-thou attitude, I hate her ten times more for her beautiful hair that she does not, and will never, deserve.

5:05 pm

Have barely seen Thomas. Do not understand. Aren't we supposed to be ducking into empty corridors and madly kissing one another under the security of silence? Aren't we supposed to be sliding mischievous hands up each other's thighs under the table? Where are the secret, sensual looks? Where are all the broom cupboards? Where are the whispered nothings that are pressed into my ear as he passes by?

All we've done is have that wee morning chat, share a nod—YES, Diary. He NODDED at me—and agree with Mrs. Hughes that Mr. Carson needs to slow down.

What is the point of being together if it's going to be just like before?

9:12 pm

Have entertained one and all with my exceptional piano skills, had a pleasant chat with Daisy, and even received a smile and a pat from Mrs. Hughes.

But no Thomas.

He's been sitting at the table, tea and cigarettes in hand, sharing low murmurs with O'Brien, cordialities with Molesley, and exasperated agreements with Carson.

He's looked over at me three and a half times—he had begun to turn his head in my direction when O'Brien suddenly distracted him—and has not said one word.

This is torture. We are together and I am beginning to forget what he smells like, what he feels like, and how his nose presses into my cheek when we kiss.

I cannot take this.

10:03 pm

Praise the lord.

"Outside, yeah?" came the quiet voice behind me.

I turned around, watching everybody shuffle up the stairs, and grinned at Thomas, his teacup still in hand.

"Outside," I agreed.

One last nod and hint of a smile, then he was gone, retreated into the kitchen.

Am so excited.

Finally! Alone!

11:54 pm

Almost burst through the door after everybody'd successfully vanished to bed, eager to meet my dark knight under the stars that had watched our love story unfold. (Would love to be a star in the sky, Diary. Would know so many secrets of the world…)

"Thomas!" I greeted happily, walking towards him with purpose, arms outstretched and ready to embrace.

Oh, how I've waited for this moment!

"What are you doing?" he hissed as I made to wrap my arms around him.

Excuse me?

"I'm saying hello. I've missed you," I said, tone torn between warmth and ice.

"Yes, I've missed you too, but now is not the time. Or place."

Couldn't stop the pained glare I shot at him (only partially hoping it sliced into him like his did me). What the bloody hell?

"I don't get it. What's the point of us finally being together if you're not going to act any different? Are we just going to bang on like before? Because we may as well have just saved ourselves a lot of heartache and stuck to just being friends!" I said in a shrill voice, trying very hard not to stomp my foot or ball my fists at my sides. (I ended up doing both.)

He sighed, throwing his cigarette on the ground. "You really need to start controlling your temper."

I stared back at him.

Dammit. I hate how sensible he is.

"Maybe," I said grudgingly quiet, looking away in a pout. I refuse to completely agree with that man. I don't care if he's right all the damn time.

"Let's walk?"

"We always walk."

"So it will be nice."

"Can I hold your hand?"

"You are such a little girl."

"It's romantic!"

"I don't doubt you believe that."

"Don't act so smug. You like to hold my hand when we sleep!"

"That was ONE time."

"Well, let's go then!" I smiled, and took off, leaving him to follow in my wake.

After a few moments of peaceful silence, I looked over to him—calm eyes set in a content face—and smiled, reaching my hand to his. "I suppose this is quite lovely," I conceded.

He sighed and stopped.

Oh god. What now?

"What's wrong?" I asked patiently, genuinely confused.

"Jimmy…" he began, disentangling his hand from mine. I already hate where this is going. "As you know, I care for you a great deal. But if we're to be together, we must play by the rules a little bit."

"I understand that, but we're clear and out of sight of the house! Surely we can act as ourselves out here?"

"And what if the gardener stumbles upon us? Hm? Or some other soul, out for a midnight stroll? What would we do then?"

Fear gripped my innards. Was he right? Yes. He was right.

We could never express ourselves in the vulnerability of openness.

"So then," I said sadly, taking my hand back, "it's only going to be like it was before. Nothing more."

He gave me a look. "Don't be quite so dramatic. We just need to be careful."

I nodded, as much as I didn't want to. "I know. I agree." I swallowed. "Especially because…I think Anna knows."

He froze instantly. "What."

"Anna. I think she knows. I accidentally let it slip that—"

"What do you _mean_ , you accidentally let it _slip_?" he asked icily, ready to throw me to the dogs.

"Well, I had been telling Anna about how hard it was—"

"She knows about us?!"

"No, no, no!" I said hurriedly, hands up in what I desperately hoped was a calming gesture. Sometimes must treat Thomas like a wild horse. Keep eye contact and approach slowly. "I-I just slipped and said 'he' when I were talking about my feelings, and she suspected, but I dodged it, but she still might suspect, and I'm not sure, and I hope not because then everything's ruined! But she probably doesn't know! She thinks I fancy girls!" Felt a nervous pang in my stomach. "At least I hope."

He sighed, and turned his head down and to the side. "I see." He glanced up at me. "I'm sorry for…going on the attack."

I shook my head. "I'dve done the same. I don't know what I would do if someone actually found out about us."

"Well," Thomas said quietly, beginning to walk again, "we'd just have to face it. There's no other way around it. We've got to play our cards right, but if luck's against us and we're found out, we'll have to do what we must."

I gulped my unease. "We'd have to deny it, of course."

Once more, Thomas stopped in his tracks. "What?"

"We'd have to deny it, the best we can."

"Deny…us?"

"Yes," I said, confused at his miscomprehension.

Oh, and here's another intense and miserable glare.

"Jimmy. You can't hide forever. If we're discovered, you'll need to face the consequences."

Face the consequences?

WHAT?!

"I can't do that!" I gasped. Why was Thomas demanding so much from me? Did he WANT my life to be ruined?

"And why bloody not?!"

"Because that would be the end of everything I've worked for! My career, my—"

"And what about us, then? What about me?!"

"Well—well, I'd have to—I mean, we'd—"

"Are you ashamed of me, Jimmy?" he suddenly asked, cheeks flushed. Had never seen Thomas anything but white before.

"Of course not," I said, on the verge of anger.

"Be honest."

"I am! I'm not ashamed of you!"

He shook his head, eyes stony. "If your first instinct is to deny your association with me… Then I don't care what you say. You're ashamed of being with me."

Without another glare or hiss, he walked away.

"Thomas!" I called, desperate and furious.

No reaction.

Instead, could only watch his cold, retreating figure.

Oh, Diary. We've only been together for a day and we're already mucking everything up! How could we have fought so fast?

Are we not as good together as I had thought?

Suppose I best get to bed, seeing as he probably doesn't want to speak with me.

….

You know what? Scratch that.

I'm going to talk to him. If we're embarking on a real relationship, I am going to talk to him and he is going to LISTEN and we are going to FORGIVE each other.

Apr 2

1:27 am

When he opened his door, his eyebrows immediately shot up in surprise.

"I thought you said we weren't going to do this anymore."

I rolled my eyes. Is his mind always in the gutter? "I'm not here for _that_ , I'm here to talk."

He eyed me suspiciously. "Talk about what? You don't need help with your pants again, do you?"

Glared. "No! I mean it, Thomas! I want to talk!"

He glanced downward. "Your socks are on? Your shirt's not caught? You don't have anything stuck in your drawers?"

My glare intensified. (Had I really tricked Thomas into sex that much?) "Thomas," I warned in my angriest whisper. "I swear I'm here to talk, now will you let me in, please?! Before we have a mess on our hands?!"

With an air of stubborn weariness, he allowed me entry.

Without thinking, I immediately sat on the bed.

His eyes held triumph. "This is exactly as I suspected," he said angrily, coming toward me with arms that suggested he was going to throw me out on me rump.

"Can't I sit down?!" I snapped through clenched teeth, crossing my arms and stink-eyeing him up.

A shade less judgmental, he took a seat beside me. "Alright, then. I'll believe you. What do you want to speak about?"Despite the obvious lingering suspicion, his tone was endearing (for Thomas) and he lightly picked up my hand, entwining it with his own.

What on earth?

Wasn't this the man who had just told me hand holding was for little girls?

"What's this?" I asked, nodding toward our interlocked fingers.

His smile was delicate as he appeared to ponder the question, staring down at our hands, his thumb gently brushing along my forefinger.

Okay. Innards are successfully melted into hot, bubbling love goo. Will probably die soon, everything seeping through all my orifices and pores.

"I suppose," he finally said, voice calm and quiet, "that the moments we have together are rare enough that I want to be with you as much as I can. Even if we are in a bit of a quarrel, it doesn't mean I don't still find you to be very wonderful." He paused. "And, besides. You have very soft hands. It's nice."

Couldn't help but laugh (is true, Diary—I don't moisturize for nothing) and tightened my hold on his hand, loving the fact that I could even do this—that this was something that wouldn't cause an awkward pause or tension.

"I'm sorry," I said quietly, looking up to him. "I'm not ashamed of you, Thomas, I promise. I just… I'm not used to all of this to begin with. I can't even imagine what I would do if…"

"Don't worry," he said calmly, trying to catch my eye. "Don't. If we face that bridge, we'll cross it. Otherwise, let's not waste time worrying, eh? It's only our first day."

Smiled. Love Thomas.

"Maybe tomorrow we'll be able to make it without fighting?"

"Let's not get ahead of ourselves, Jimmy," he smiled, before pressing his lips softly against my hand, clasped between his own. "But I promise to be on my best behavior." His eyebrow held a suspicious arch and his smile was too sweet to be considered innocent.

"I don't," I teased, bringing my other hand up to drift to his face, and his grin grew. We locked eyes—in that sweet, expectant way that I've grown so accustomed to—before we simultaneously leaned in, our lips meeting.

Was a beautiful kiss—proper and gentle and sighing—and when I finally released him, his eyes hooded and tired, I felt my blood vessels bursting with a happiness I still wasn't quite adjusted to.

"Now then. You best get some sleep," I muttered, hands still in his smooth hair.

He nodded, eyes closing. "You too."

"I'm not tired. I'll probably write in me journal," I said simply as his forehead slowly fell onto my shoulder, then against my neck. Fought the urge to squeal. Love when Thomas folds up like a child. Is so lovely and beautiful and rare for him.

"Not tired?" his muffled voice protested. "Then I must read you to sleep." He brought his head up, eyes fuzzy with threatening sleep, hair even more tousled.

 _Thomas Barrow_ wants to read me to sleep? Is this real life?

I love him.

"You couldn't hold the book up," I teased, and he smirked, leaning back and sliding himself under the covers.

"Is that a challenge? Come here." He patted the space beside him and picked up the book on his bedside table.

Rolling my eyes—this stubborn man—and suppressing an exasperated sigh, I climbed in next to him.

"Alright, then. Read."

He yawned. "Alright. Um. 'As darkness settled….*yawn*….settled upon the estate….'"

I grabbed the book out of his slackened hands immediately. "Right. Well. How abouts I read to you?"

Eyes now officially closed, his lips quirked. "I suppose I can allow that."

"Alright. Now, Chapter 4:

" _Darkness began to settle upon the estate, curling into the peeled slivers of paint that still clung to the decrepit house, and the wind seeped through the air without hesitation, rupturing through the thin walls and creaking through the warped, wooden floors, evoking moans of unsettled discontent. The young gentleman continued onward, the remnants of the oak door now unfolding into sight._

" _As he neared this most ominous of dwellings, this most shamed of forgotten land—the source of rumor and legend alike—he felt the very fibers within him morph into thinly threaded pathways, connecting him to a journey he could no longer abandon. In that single moment, his future had been written and confined to a map—amidst the sliding scream of dead branches—his route entangling in his bloodlines within the very darkness that lie before him, forging a bond that he knew, in the very depths of his wavering soul, could nevermore be broken."_

Well wasn't that all a bit dramatic. What kind of rubbish does Thomas read?

I didn't need to look over to know that he was well past asleep. Gently, I closed the book, placed it on his nightstand, and brushed my lips against his brow.

Wish I could have stayed. Oh well. Someday.

For now, I best get to bed.

Oh, Diary. Life is beautiful.

11:38 pm

We didn't fight today!

Just told him this excitedly and he replied, with customary cool tones:

"Well. I suppose there's a first for everything."

Is not a very romantic man.

Apr 3

10:21 am

Every day is beautiful. And I love Thomas.

But he needs to stop talking to Branson.

Just overheard Carson.

"Mr. Branson has requested to see you." His tone held all the distaste of the world.

"Very good, Mr. Carson," came Thomas' smooth voice.

Took all my energy not to lunge out from the shadows and demand answers. I mean, really! Why on earth would BRANSON need to see Thomas? He has no business with the under-butler!

What kind of world do we live in?

2:09 pm

Just caught Thomas in a deserted corridor.

"Why did Branson want to see you this morning?"

The small smile which had bloomed upon seeing me now turned acrid.

"Jimmy. Enough." He turned to walk away.

"It's only a question, _darling_ ," I smiled through gritted teeth, hand on his elbow.

He sighed, sliding his eyes to me. "You know very well I don't like to answer your questions."

Couldn't exactly argue with that, so I settled for a pleading look.

What if Branson and him were having an affair? I have the right to know these things!

Obviously losing an internal struggle, he pressed his lips together tightly before calmly stating, "He was offering me a job."

I clutched the wall for support.

OFFERING. HIM. A. JOB?!

BRANSON WAS TRYING TO TAKE HIM AWAY FROM ME?!

THAT SNEAKY, IRISH, CLEVER, MANIPULATIVE, CAR-DRIVING SKEEZE OF DANGEROUS PROPORTIONS!

Weapon. I need a weapon. I need a weapon NOW.

Seeing my all-consuming anger and distress, Thomas immediately braced me with his hands, looking hard into my eye. "Calm down, you lout. I said no, of course. In the past I've complained about me job and how bloody annoying it is to be Carson's whipping boy, and he were only being kindly."

"What job did he offer you?" was all I could manage, trying on a patient lover's smile—which ended up being more painful than helpful.

Calm, Jimmy. Be calm. Be—weapon—NO. Calm. Calm. Calm.

Almost imperceptibly, his features tightened.

A pause.

Then:

"His valet."

OH HELL NO.

"He wanted you to undress him?!" I hissed, ready to pass out. Or find a weapon. Yes, must find a weap—

"Come off it. I've been the Lord's valet, I trust you don't suspect any funny business occurred then, do you?"

"Well, that's different!"

"How?"

"He's not a young, slightly attractive, bold—"

"Jimmy," he muttered, now rubbing his eyes. He sighed and gave me a pink-tinged stare, clearly fed up. "You are going to have to trust me. I've not taken the job. But even if I had, it weren't like that."

"Says you," I sniffed, turning away, enjoying the cooling sensation of relief.

"Don't be a child."

Bit my lip.

He stared at me, hard, trying to catch my eye. "This needs to stop, my darling boy." Despite the situation and the look in his eyes, his tone was shockingly gentle.

Oh my. He called me his darling boy. Did not know such words were even in his vocabulary.

Oh my.

Smiled in spite of myself. Even if I was being chided.

"I know," I quietly conceded, dropping my eyes to the floor. "I just… I panic. I can't help it. It's because I love—"

We both froze.

Should I say it? We've never actually spoken the words out loud. Should I tell him I love him? I already have, basically, but never actually. Should I just plunge into the mysterious waters?

The petrified and distant look in his eyes told me no.

I instantly deflated.

"It's because I love…drama," I substituted unthinkingly.

Suspicious relief overcame his face.

Well. Isn't that just swell.

"Right," I coughed, straightening my jacket. We were looking anywhere but at each other. "I suppose I best get going. I'm sorry for overreacting."

"It was quite understandable, James." (Oh great. He's calling me James. That's never good.) "Not to worry. I'll see you later."

We walked our separate ways.

Why is Thomas so afraid of me telling him I love him? Is it because he doesn't love me? Will we ever say it? I hope so.

Apr 4

12:51 am

Just got back from Thomas' room. We were plotting ways to fire Alfred. Jokingly, of course (at least on his end), and he kissed me eleven times, held my hand, sniffed my hair, and told me I was almost as beautiful as Branson. So, of course, I had to bite him. It left a mark, but he were too busy laughing to notice.

Was not very funny.

We did discuss him though.

"I just don't understand why you have to be friends with him. It's odd. Him being upstairs and you being…you," I finished awkwardly.

His eyebrows shot up. "I'll be friends with whomever I please, thank you."

"But why him?" I whined. (Note to self: stop whining. Is childish and unattractive. And makes my voice sound like Ivy's.)

"Because. Now, would you stop being a child?"

"No," I pouted.

He sighed, unfolding my stubbornly crossed arms and sliding his own around my waist. "How about I cut you a deal. You stop banging on about my friendship with Branson—which is JUST friends, I promise—and I will write you a letter, in which I praise you, every single day for the rest of my life." He was smirking, probably half-teasing, but no matter.

He offers, I take.

"Alright then!" I immediately agreed.

His smile faltered, clearly having not expected to be taken seriously. He stared at me, eyes unblinking, dread slowly spreading across his features.

"I'm actually going to have to do this, aren't I?"

"Oh yes," I said certainly.

"You know what? On second thought—it's fine—you keep screeching about Branson and we'll call it even."

"I don't screech. And no, nope! You promised!" I said, jabbing him in the ribs.

"Alright, alright," he sighed slowly. "And what shall I say in these letters?"

"That's up to you. You need to be creative! Mention my hair. And my eyes. And all my other best features."

He snorted. "Sounds like you could write them yourself."

"But I can't write love poems to myself, now can I?"

"Oh, I'm sure you could."

"I hate you, Thomas."

"You wouldn't be the first."

Smiled and shook my head. Is such a strange man.

Pressed one last kiss upon his lips before we said goodnight, and I retired to my room.

12:59 am

Am so excited to receive love letters from Thomas!

They're going to be so romantic! Just like the Valentine's! And that first note he gave me the day after we got together!

1:01 am

But what if somebody discovers them? It would be very incriminating.

Oh no.

1:02 am

Maybe this wasn't such a good idea.

1:03 am

Perhaps if we just don't write our names?

1:06 am

I'VE GOT IT!

We'll have code names!

1:49 am

"I thought you were going to bed?"

"I am. I was. But I just came up with the perfect idea!" I said excitedly.

With a sigh and a suppressed smile, Thomas allowed me entry back into his room.

"We should have code names!"

He stared at me.

"Code names," he repeated flatly.

I nodded eagerly. "That way, nobody will ever know who we are if they should find one of our notes!"

The slightly concerned and unimpressed look in his eyes morphed into one of resistant understanding. "Ah. I see." He blinked a couple of times, weighing the possibilities in his head. "And these code names would be…?"

Yes! He's on board!

"Yours shall be 'Dragon,'" I smiled proudly.

A blank stare.

A pause.

Then:

"No."

"Unicorn?"

His eyes narrowed.

"Gryffin?"

"Absolutely not."

"What? Come on! Why not?"

"Do I look as if I'd respond to any of those?"

…

I'm calling him Dragon, anyway.

"Well, do you have any better suggestions?" I asked hotly.

"Yes. How about Thomas?"

"No, Thomas! That's not how it works! It's supposed to be secret!"

"You called me Thomas just now. See? It works much better."

"Because that's your name!"

"Exactly."

"No!"

He grinned devilishly at my flustered state. (I hate him.) "Well, what's your name, then?"

I crossed my arms. "I haven't decided yet."

"How about 'Hummingbird?'"

"No!" I shrieked.

"And why not?" he asked innocently.

"It's feminine!"

"Exactly."

Oh, he is going to be thrown out the window.

"I will decide my own name, and I will notify you at once. Now. Goodnight!" And I stomped out of the room.

That man is insufferable.

6:41 am

Have just left my first note to Thomas, code names in place.

_Dear Dragon,_

_I hope your day is satisfactory. Because I like you._

_Love,_

_The Golden Prince_

There. It's noncommittal, it's simple, and I've revealed my secret—and very fitting—new name.

1:10 pm

Hate Thomas. Just got his responding note.

_Hummingbird,_

_My day only exists in regards to you. And it was not very satisfactory._

_The Great One_

Code names are over.

Was a silly idea.

3:19 pm

Love Mrs. Patmore.

Was in the kitchen, alone, when she hustled in, eyeing me.

"Well hello," she said, immediately setting about her work.

"Hello, Mrs. Patmore," I smiled. "What are you making?"

"Just some treacle at the moment," she said absently, sifting through ingredients. She glanced over to me. "You're still in fine spirits?"

"Indeed, Mrs. P. And I will be for the remainder of my life," I grinned, rocking on my heels and thinking of Thomas.

The amusement was evident on her face as she shook her head. "You're like a see-saw, you are! Up and down every minute of the day! It wasn't two months ago when you were all a mess and crying into the Dowager's tea!"

I flushed. "I don't _cry_ ," I said stiffly. Must she embarrass me so?

With another little smile, she turned around, observing me. "Are you really alright, Jimmy?" she suddenly asked, voice dropping volume, as she walked toward me. She placed a caring and floury hand on my arm, searching my eyes with almost-worry.

Was utterly touched despite my now soiled jacket. Mrs. Patmore really does care.

Oh god.

(Remember, Jimmy. You don't cry.)

Smiled a little bashfully in response, and covered her hand with my own, feeling a strange fondness and embarrassment. "I am. I promise," I said sincerely. Felt the tiniest bit nervous at the honesty of it all.

Her answering smile was easy and relieved, and with one last pat, she returned to the task at hand.

"I suspect your cake was the reason I've been fairing so well, Mrs. Patmore," I smiled, unable to hold back a cheeky grin. I paused. "Thank you."

"Well don't expect such favors to happen again. Now, get going! You've no time to just stand about!"

With a cozy and secure feeling, I walked away happily.

Love Mrs. Patmore. Is somewhat terrifying, abrasive, loud, and sweaty, but is a darling and a caretaker, and is like a mother to me. Love her, love her.

Apr 5

11:49 am

I am calm, mature, and secure in my relationship with Thomas.

I harbor no jealousy, hatred, or animosity towards any of God's creatures.

I am happy that Branson is coming down for tea with us today.

I am excited to have this opportunity to get to know him better.

I am calm, mature, and secure in my relationship with Thomas.

12:27 pm

I am calm, mature, and secure in my relationship with Thomas.

12:49 pm

May have just used you, Diary, in an act of self defense. I apologize for such harshness.

But Alfred had it coming.

Said, with a very cocky and amused grin, "You still writing in that thing?" when he saw me take out me journal.

"Obviously," I countered, opening it delicately.

He continued to stare, seeming to hold back laughter. "Do you write poems, then?" I looked up. "Do you write about your _feelings_? And all the boys who've broken your heart?"

Blinded by panic—does Alfred know about me and Thomas? Why would he say that?—I closed my diary and beat him over the head with it. Twice.

"OI!" he shouted, trying to shield himself.

"JAMES!" came a thundering and bone-chilling voice of epic stern proportions.

I froze. I knew that death toll anywhere.

Mrs. Hughes.

"Put that down this instant and explain yourself," she said fiercely, her eyes penetrating to my soul as she slowly walked toward me.

Oh god. I would rather be placed in a roman coliseum than face this woman. (Think she may have a personality disorder. There's no other explanation as to how she can go from angel to devil in the mere space of seconds.)

"I—er—well, you see, Mrs. Hughes… Erm. There was this beetle. On Alfred's head. I were only trying to save him!"

It was fairly obvious that she did not believe me.

"Why on earth would there be a beetle on Alfred's head? And why on earth would you bludgeon the thing to death when you could have told him and he'd have merely swept it away?"

Touché.

Her eyes narrowed more still. "I expect no more lies in future."

Alfred smirked.

"Of course," I said shamefully, hanging my head, feeling my cheeks flush. "My apologies, Mrs. Hughes."

She nodded, appeased, then paused before exiting. Her eyes glanced to my diary, still clutched in my white-knuckled hand.

"Though I must say. You've got quite an arm on you. If we ever have a mole problem, you will be the first to know."

She shot me one more alarmed-meets-disapproving look, lips pursed, before walking away like the almighty queen bee that she is.

Moles? What?

Alfred leered at me. "You going to write that in your diary, then?"

Didn't care, gave him one last—hard—smack, then kept on with my business.

Branson will be here soon.

I am calm, mature, and secure in my relationship with Thomas.

1:13 pm

What is taking him so long? I just want to get this over with.

1:15 pm

I wonder where Thomas is…

1:38 pm

I hear ugly footsteps and an Irish brogue.

Here we go.

I am calm, mature, and secure in my relationship with Thomas.

2:59 pm

And now Thomas is mad at me.

Was just beginning to maintain peace with the world, when Branson and Thomas came waltzing into the servants' hall. And Thomas had a large grin on his face. Which is rare enough as it is. (Am convinced he only has a handful at his disposal, and due to such shortage, he must use them sparingly. The fact that he wasted one of those precious smiles on Tom fucking Branson, made me want to put my diary to practical use once more. On Branson's face.)

"Hello, everybody," he smiled with a nod, eyes gliding across every face assembled in the servants' hall, as we stood up to great the toadstool.

When his kind-as-a-donkey-turd eyes fell upon me, could only look away, mustering all the ice I could find within me.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Branson," Mrs. Hughes smiled warmly, gesturing him to sit down. (There she goes again—personality number one back in place.)

"Thank you," he nodded, sitting down—and to my horror, Thomas followed suit, right beside him.

Splendid.

"I trust you are well?" Mrs. Hughes asked, and he nodded, that unnervingly warm smile in place.

"I am, thank you. Things are…going along," he offered, shifting a little uncomfortably.

Thomas, who of course had lit a cigarette, exhaled through a small smile. "That's good to hear," he said professionally, tidy grin in place.

My blood boiled.

"And how are you all?" Branson asked, as Daisy and Ivy came into the room, tea trays in hand. He nodded his thanks to a blushing Ivy as she set down his cup, as Mr. Carson lifted his chin in self-conscious authority.

"We are all well, Mr. Branson. Keeping busy, of course, and preparing for the birth of Lady Mary's child, which we are all quite eager for."

Could feel the struggle it took Mrs. Hughes to resist rolling her eyes.

"Oh yes," Branson smiled, stirring his tea. "She is quite along now, and beginning to feel the effects. Quite reminds me of when…" he stopped, his eyes suddenly clouding over.

The room immediately stiffened, and everybody shifted uneasily.

Anna cast a glance to an impassive Mr. Bates, and O'Brien's eyes briefly darted down to the table, then back.

Ignored my own pangs of sympathy. Will not be kind to this man. Is obviously a leech.

"We don't have to speak on it," Thomas offered quietly.

Saw the ruffle of surprise as everybody stared between the two.

Branson smiled weakly. "You are kind, Mr. Barrow. I appreciate it."

I snorted. "Oh, please," I said, rolling my eyes, before I could stop myself.

I blinked.

Oops.

"James?" Carson challenged, eyes already growing with threat.

My eyes darted from him, to Mrs. Hughes, to Branson…and then finally to Thomas. Who was glaring at me. Intensely.

Play it cool, Jimmy. I am calm, mature, and secure in my relationship with Thomas.

"Yes?" I asked innocently, taking a sip of my tea.

"What did you just say?" Carson demanded.

Bugger.

"Please," Branson interrupted, holding up a gentle hand. "It's quite alright." He looked to me, and there was a hint of reservation behind his polite smile.

I glared my response.

"Well," he said, clearing his throat. "Are you all enjoying the fine weather we've been having?"

"It's been very nice," Anna agreed. "It's given me a chance to start a little garden."

"Has it? How economical," he half-joked. "And what are you growing?"

"Oh, just some—"

"And why does it matter?" I heard myself challenging.

_Jimmy, what are you doing?_

Have I lost all control over mind and body?

Once again, everybody stared at me.

"James! What has gotten into you?" Mrs. Hughes demanded, personality number two beginning to poke its head into the light of day.

"Mrs. Hughes," Branson insisted before I could respond. "It's quite alright. I best be leaving anyway. I've promised to join Matthew"—Carson stiffened noticeably—"for a meeting with his Lordship. I thank you for everything."

"We must do this again," Thomas said in between glares directed at me.

Branson nodded, placing a hand on his arm—OH WHAT?! "Indeed. Good day," he said, nodding to us all, his eyes lingering on mine for the briefest of seconds.

Felt my stomach drop and, needless to say, proceeded to get a proper scolding from both Carson AND Mrs. Hughes, while Thomas looked on in extreme anger, Alfred and Stella giggled behind their hands, and Daisy and Ivy looked on in pity. O'Brien looked slightly amused.

Suspect I'm going to get a talking to tonight.

11:48 pm

Well, that could have been worse.

Met Thomas outside, fearing the outburst that was inevitably going to come.

"Good evening Thomas…" I said tentatively, slowly coming toward him.

"You could have gotten into serious trouble today," came the smoky words, hard and even.

"I think I may have," I mumbled, looking away.

"You can never just leave it alone, can you? You just had to make it difficult."

"He was irritating me."

"Why's that?"

"Because."

"Because I spoke with him?"

Flushed. "Oh, please, Thomas. What do you take me for? Your jealous sweetheart?"

"Yes, that's exactly what I take you for."

Well. I suppose I backed myself into that corner.

Looked away into the endless folds of darkness. Safe, unassuming darkness.

I heard him sigh. "Look, I know you're a very… _passionate_ person. But this is getting to be a bit of a problem."

I kept silent, hands in my pockets.

"Can you promise me that you'll at least try to be a bit kinder to him? I mean it, James. If this is going to work, you're going to need to start trying."

Oh, I'm aware.

Letting out a defeated sigh, I finally turned to him. "You're right, of course." I ignored his satisfied expression and continued. "And I promise to try. But you really don't need to be all over him like that."

His eyebrow quirked. "All over him?"

"Yes. You don't need to be so _kind_."

"You think I'm being too kind," he said flatly.

"Yes."

There was a pause, then a light laugh as the smoke tumbled out from his lips, tinted silver under the moonlight. "I've never heard that sentence in my life."

Smiled. "Well, as you would say: there's a first for everything."

"I suppose so," he smiled, walking toward me. He looked down, cigarette still between his lips, then smiled, his eyes calculating me. "Let's go inside."

"Already? Why?"

"Because I almost miss you and want to sit with you," he said simply.

Resisted a grin and the accompanying flutterings. "Almost?"

"I think that's being generous."

Smacked him, but followed him inside nonetheless.

Oh, Diary. Can I please, please, please get a better handle on my emotions? Do not want to risk what Thomas and I have, as it is just the beginning.

I must learn to control my emotions. I must. Could lose the only man I've ever loved if I don't. Or worse, give rise to suspicion about us.

Must, must, must.

Apr 6

6:12 pm

Just saw Thomas quietly speaking with O'Brien in a dark corridor. Everything about that is ominous.

What exactly is going on between them?

7:11 pm

"What do you talk to O'Brien about?" I asked quietly as we climbed the stairs.

"Now you think I'm having an affair with her, too?"

"Don't be daft. It's all very shady, is all."

"Never you mind. Now, get on. Dinner needs serving."

Odd.

Apr 7

1:11 am

Just got back from a walk with Thomas. He still didn't let me hold his hand, he still didn't tell me he loved me, he still held a slight stiff superiority in his step…but he did do a very sweet thing.

Was in the midst of conversation, when he suddenly bent down.

"I don't even like Lady Mary. I'm not sure why Carson cares so much. … What are you doing, Thomas?" I stared at his back as he fumbled through the grassy terrain underfoot.

"Here," he finally said, standing up with a fistful of grass.

Love Thomas, but hate weeds.

"Oh. How…sweet," I said with clear disdain, eyeing the dirty mess.

He smirked, shooting me a look. "I'll keep the nasty bits. Here. This one's for you." Sorting through the blades, he procured one tiny, beautiful vermilion flower, just bloomed and perfectly formed. Was so small, fit perfectly in the palm of my hand.

"A wee flower!" I said happily, inspecting its soft petals. "I didn't think there were any flowers yet."

"There aren't. You've got the first one, right there, James. I've given you spring," he teased, letting the strips of grass fall from his open hand in soft, tumbling tresses.

The man of my dreams has given me spring. He has given me life and flowers and sun and sky.

I could die right now.

"Thomas," I managed, voice cracking.

An eyebrow quirked, but he smiled nonetheless. "It's just a flower, Jimmy."

Looked up at him. "No it's not."

The smile I received was probably the simplest and most open one I've ever seen from Thomas.

Unable to say anything more—nothing else was necessary—we continued onward, the flower pressed into my hand the whole time, Thomas leading the way.

Apr 9

11:17 am

Mrs. Patmore and Daisy are a team to be reckoned with.

"Get your filthy hands off of that pastry!" the former squawked, eyes severe.

"But Mrs. Patmore," I whined, my stomach grumbling.

"Shoo!" she yelled, coming at me with a fork.

Dodged her onslaught, and snuck beside Daisy instead, who was cutting up a fresh batch of brownies. Winked at her, then snuck my hand forward—

Only to have it smacked violently away.

"Ow!"

"Get, you! Go on! GET!" she shouted, knife raised.

Slowly backed off, the both of them glaring at me, weapons in tow, before slinking into the servants' hall. Am not usually terrified of cooks… But those two are in a class of their own.

"What were that about?" Anna asked, nodding toward the kitchen.

I shook my head. "They're off their rockers."

She shot me a smile before heading upstairs, various garments slung over her arm.

10:09 pm

Thomas is going to come to my room tonight this time. Says that it's not fair that I'm always messing up his. Do not know what he's talking about, as am a spotlessly clean person. He's the one who kicks off his boots anywhere he pleases and tosses his shirts dangerously close to the fire. A right slob, he is.

I wonder if he'll say he loves me? I do hope so. And if not tonight, then soon. I know he feels it but is just afraid to say it. Think that Thomas may have trust issues, Diary. Is difficult for him to let someone in so closely, and is still harder knowing that he risks it all after so many have done so much for him.

He's not afraid, like me—he's not a coward. Is just ridden with guilt.

And it's because of me.

It's why he hesitates to hold my hand, shuts his eyes so tightly when we kiss, possesses the same, subdued control as always, and, even in his most tender, unguarded moments, cannot bring himself to surrender completely.

I hope he will overcome it. I hope he will trust me and love me and be himself completely.

I only want the best for him. I hope that I can give it.

11:00 pm

He didn't say he loved me, but he told me to shut up (he was sick of hearing how much I love Mrs. Patmore) and kissed my hair.

Is just as good, Diary.

Apr 11

6:33 am

Life is gorgeous, I look great, and Thomas is perfect.

That is all.

Apr 13

10:11 am

Oh god. If Daisy doesn't shut up soon, she's going to be next on my hit list.

Was in the kitchen chatting with Mrs. Patmore (she snuck me a bit of toast with some cinnamon, bless her) when Daisy went on the attack.

"You've been smiling all month, you have! I haven't seen you like this in so long! What's happened, Jimmy? You've got to tell us!"

Her enthusiasm warranted boiling water in the face.

I eyed the kettle.

"I'm just rejuvenated, Daisy. Nothing more." I shot her a look of extreme warning.

Which did nothing.

"Oh, come on! You can tell us! We won't say anything!"

"Go on, then, Jimmy. Tell us," Alfred smirked, enjoying my unease because he's an underling with no sense of style.

I eyed the kettle again.

"I'm just…happy," I attempted, looking to Patmore for help.

Even she was enjoying my suffering.

"I think he's in love," Ivy smiled.

I shot a glare at her.

"I am not!" I huffed.

"I bet you he is," Daisy teased, laughing. "I bet he has been this whole time, he'll just never say."

"Well, he did have that sweetheart," Ivy reasoned, and now everybody's eyes were on me.

Remained silent, face set in a scowl, cheeks red, keeping panic at bay. I hate immaturity.

"Alright, then. You may be silent now, but we'll wiggle it out of you!"

Walked out before more madness could ensue.

Am a little scared, Diary. What if they poke around? What if they discover Thomas and I?

I'm just not sure what I would do…

7:11 pm

Do not trust O'Brien.

Was waiting to bring up the first course, when Thomas slid past me, smirk evident, and slipped a note in my hand.

A note?

How exciting!

How romantic!

Ohhh, I bet it's love poetry!

Unable to hide my smile, I glanced about to make sure that nobody was watching, then unfolded the strip of paper.

 _Hummingbirds are the tiniest birds in the world_.

What on earth?

Was just about to think of the most offensive way to respond, when I suddenly felt a presence beside me.

I started, looking up.

O'Brien.

"What's that, there?" she asked, eyeing the note in my hands.

I quickly folded it and tucked it away safely in my pocket.

"Just a spare bit of paper," I smiled nonchalantly, before Daisy handed me the soup and I led Alfred up the stairs.

Feel a bit unsettled though. What if she saw the note? What if she cracks our code?

Cannot be discovered, Diary. Cannot.

Apr 14

2:02 am

Am lying in bed with Thomas—who's reading that slab of rubbish he calls a book—and feel very perfectly happy. Love being with Thomas.

Love it, but is not what I had expected, now that we are finally together .

Had always believed, Diary, from the films and novels, that being with the one you love was blissful perfection. Even Anna herself led me to believe so! But is not, Diary. Being with Thomas is scary and difficult and nerve wracking and charged, because every moment I'm with him, I feel too much, and every moment I'm away, I feel too little. Our circumstances are special, yes, but there's something much more real about it than everyone wants everyone else to think.

Love is scary, Diary. And it's not easy.

Do not mind though. Do not mind because it's real and it's honest, and would never want to be stuck within perfection with Thomas, when we can experience so much more—we can experience it all! Is exciting, is terrifying.

And maybe we're not always on par (Thomas, with his still-not-quite-thawed exterior) but is okay, because we've only just begun.

Anna would be proud.

2:04 am

Thomas has just been a snoop and looked over at me entry. Said, "You make her sound as if she's dead," in regards to Anna.

Said in return, "No, because wise people can't die. But you will, if you don't mind your own."

Then he told me I was daft and kissed my hair.

I love him.

Apr 16

2:36 pm

Just saw Branson downstairs.

"Jimmy," he greeted, eyes reserved. "How are you today?"

Looked him up and down.

"Better than you."

And walked away.

Hope Thomas doesn't find out.

3:01 pm

"' _Better than you?'"_

Of course.

God forbid Branson keep his mouth shut.

Thomas stared at me, arms folded across his chest, leaning against Carson's desk.

"You can't prove that I said that."

"You just did."

Wait, what?

While I gaped like a fish, he shook his head, a smile prickling at his lips.

"You are unmanageable," he breathed, gently sliding the backs of his fingers over my cheek before he walked away.

Apr 17

9:45 am

Just saw Ivy and hallboy Benjamin in the kitchen. She was laughing, her hand on his chest, as he tucked her hair back and spoke words I couldn't quite decipher, a large smile on his face, his eyes locked with hers.

Watched as they slid their hands along each other sweetly and innocently, their faces close together.

Watched their earnestness and ease.

Watched as they laughed without fear of being heard, and touched without fear of being seen.

Is not fair. Wish Thomas and I could have that.

Apr 18

1:11 am

Mentioned Ivy and Benjamin tonight with Thomas.

"I wish we could do things in public like them. I wish we could go on a picnic."

He nodded, eyes far away.

"We can have a picnic at night?" he offered, folding his clothes.

Smiled up at him. "And watch the sunrise?" I asked eagerly.

He blanketed the room in warmth with his returning grin. "Only for you."

Bit my cheeks to suppress the unruliness of my glee. (Cannot give him the satisfaction of just how happy he makes me. Will use it against me, cuz he's a plotting sort.)

(But he's _my_ plotting sort.)

Apr 19

1:25 pm

"Stella says that I'm the best looking bloke here," Alfred said proudly as we sat in the servants' hall, watching O'Brien and Anna mending away while Molesley read the paper and Bates shot me judgmental glances (he may have heard me comparing him to a toad to Daisy earlier).

I almost spit out my tea.

"Stella's not a very clever liar," I snorted. Honestly. Alfred? The best looking?

Thomas aside, there's me to think about! I wasn't born this way for nothing.

"Oi," he warned. "She said I were even more handsome than Mr. Barrow." His chin raised with pride.

"And me?"

He looked at me blankly. "You? No, she didn't mention you."

The glass clinked as I set my cup down harshly into its saucer. "What do you mean she didn't mention me?"

He shrugged. "She doesn't often speak of you. Just Mr. Barrow."

Pardon?

"Still?" I asked, gripping onto my calm.

Obviously not thrilled by the revelation, he merely looked away, stretching out in his chair. "It's no bother to me. She's my girl, not his." But his voice was a bit too territorial to be trusted.

So. The hussy still thinks of my Thomas.

I knew I hated her for a reason.

11:57 pm

Just got back from a lovely night with Thomas.

We were outside, sat under the cloudless sky in the grass (on our jackets, as we didn't want to get dirty) and pretended we lived in a better world—one where we could sip champagne by a riverbed and wear the finest shoes, telling others they live boring lives over a plate of oysters.

Was perfect, as usual, and if we weren't laughing (Thomas laughs a lot these days, is getting much better at it) he was speaking beautiful sentiments that carved into my heart. (Told me I was his "perfect poison" which sounds nice, even if I'm not so sure what it means…)

Afterwards he walked me to my door.

"You never walk me to my room. You're becoming kinder," I teased, trying to pull off one of the smirks he so frequently used.

He gave me a devilish grin before leaning forward against me—making my breath hitch—and reaching round to open my door for me.

"Goodnight, m'boy," he grinned, holding the door open for me, still too close for decency. (For being a paranoid man, he can certainly be very bold, what with Carson sleeping just a few doors down…)

Felt a mixture of giddiness and unbearable WANT as I absorbed the look on his face. This stupid, bloody man. Why does he do this stuff?

"Why thank you. You must have been one incredible footman."

"Naturally. Better than you, anyway."

"Oh!" I exclaimed, smacking his hand off of my doorknob. (Oh, how I wish that sentence had a different meaning entirely… But no. We must take it slow. Proper.) "You think very highly of yourself."

He shrugged, already retreating to his room. "Someone's got to."

"Goodnight, Thomas," I called, watching him.

Could very easily become obsessed with that man.

11:58 pm

Suppose I already am a bit obsessed with him.

11:59 pm

But when will he say he loves me?

Very much hope it's under a starry sky, with a gentle summer breeze tickling our skin, our lips moist with red wine and all the time in the world. Hope that he spells it out in rose petals and trains birds to sing it to me and sweeps me up in his arms and twirls me until the sun rises.

….

Perhaps should scratch that out.

Would never hear the end of it if Thomas saw that.

Then again. It's MY diary. MY dream.

He could use the tips.

Apr 20

3:04 am

Was lying in bed with Thomas, and just opened up my diary.

"You still use that pen?" he asked, brushing his fingertips against the metal. He was trying to hide his smile.

"Of course," I smiled.

He shook his head then gave an unattractively large yawn. "And I expect you write about me in there?"

Um.

Oh, he doesn't even know.

"I've, er, mentioned you once or twice." I cleared my throat.

"Can I read?"

"Absolutely not."

"What? Why?"

"It's written in another language. You wouldn't understand," I lied easily.

"Every time I've seen you write, it's in English."

"Well then that's purely by coincidence. The rest of it is in Hebrew."

"Hebrew." He didn't sound convinced.

I think Thomas has the power to see through lies.

"Yes, Hebrew. Now, goodnight, sweet prince."

He chuckled, turning onto his side. "Goodnight, Shakespeare. Or should I say, shalom?"

What?

What the hell was that word?

"Erm. Yes."

Heard one last chuckle before he fell asleep.

Apr 21

4:24 pm

I just maintained a civil conversation with Branson!

"Hello, Jimmy."

"Branson."

"I trust you're well?"

"Quite."

!

I am gaining control over my actions and am slowly becoming a kind and perfect soulmate to Thomas!

He will be so proud.

11:13 pm

"I am proud," he said, kissing my temple in the darkness.

I looked up at him. Wasn't there a firm 'no touching' rule whenever we were outside?

"You just kissed me," I said in surprise.

He grinned before stepping back and taking another drag on his cigarette. "You deserved it. I'm proud."

"You? Proud?" I said incredulously, taking a step toward him.

He eyed me, amused. "It's been known to happen."

"I'm not sure it has."

"Stop being cheeky."

"Only if you'll kiss me again."

"You're very bold."

"And you're a cold fish."

He grinned. "There are worse things to be."

I scoffed. "Like what?"

"You."

"Oh, you love me," I said before I could think.

And just like that, the atmosphere stiffened.

Dammit, Jimmy.

Why do you always have to run your mouth.

"Come on. Let's get to bed," he said, not unkindly, as he flicked his cigarette away.

Sighed and followed him.

What is he so afraid of?

Apr 22

3:33 pm

I hate Bates.

"You have the nicest hair, Anna. What do you use?" I asked her as we sat in the servants' hall.

"Oh!" she blushed, taken aback. "Just a bit of soap," she laughed, giving me a look.

"It's lovely," I smiled.

"Thank you, Jimmy," came her amused, but genuine reply.

Slid my fingers through my own lackluster mane, sighing. "I need to start paying more attention to my hair. It's getting a bit hideous."

"Perhaps it's your fascination with such superficial trivialities that is hideous, and not your hair itself."

Oh, well aren't you the wise little dinosaur, Bates?

Anna suppressed a smile as she watched my reaction at her husband's insolence.

"Of course, Mr. Bates. Your knowledge empowers."

With a look of reprove, he hobbled away.

"I hate your husband," I said to her, deadpan.

She shook her head and sighed through her amused smile, sticking the needle through the fabric. "I'm afraid it's mutual."

Interesting. Did not know Bates could hate. Thought he was too up himself for such behaviors, but I suppose not.

Do not understand why Anna is married to a treestump.

Apr 23

2:53 am

Just got back from Thomas' room.

Was trying to convince him to go dancing with me.

"And where exactly could we go dancing? Aside from a deserted forest?"

Really, Thomas.

"You can't dance in a forest."

"Why not?"

"It just wouldn't work."

"What about witches? They dance in forests."

Rolled my eyes. "Yes, I'm sure Stella does."

He laughed, then walked over to me, placing his hand on my waist, the other in my right hand.

"We can dance now. Only because I'm out of practice."

Smiled as we swayed very lightly (must not make too much noise).

"We can go in the servants' hall!" I offered suddenly.

"Oh, that's a splendid idea. Especially when Carson comes down to check what all the ruckus is."

Oh.

Fear marred any and all excitement.

"Never mind."

His smile faltered, but we kept swaying, trying to ignore the sadness in each others' eyes.

Wish we didn't have to hide. Wish things were different. Wish it wasn't all so scary.

Apr 24

10:42 am

Stella's a bitch, Diary. I may have said before, but I mean it now.

Was in the kitchen, chatting to Ivy about Benjamin.

"He's ever so caring," she said, eyes shining. "He says he loves me, and one day, when he has a proper amount put away, he wishes to marry me. Says he'll give me the best."

Smiled, despite the slight pricks of envy that prickled the back of my neck.

"He sounds kind."

"Oh, he is," she said earnestly, clutching her hands together. Ivy is such a girl. "I'm the luckiest girl in the world, Jimmy!" she giggled.

"Oh?" suddenly came a superior, tinkling voice. "How unlucky for the world."

Ivy's eyes darkened as she glanced over at Stella, two mindless maids standing behind the aforementioned, eyeing Ivy with as much distaste as their leader. "Nobody asked you," she said, face cold—or at least, as cold as Ivy could manage.

"Nobody had to," Stella said, arms crossed. "He's just a hallboy, you know. You're not going to live a very grand life."

"I don't want a grand life. He loves me," Ivy demanded, cheeks pink and flustered.

Poor Ivy. Is too sweet for all the bitch and whoreness that is Stella.

Was just about to break up the row when Stella's clear voice cut me off with a "Well, they do say dogs are man's best friend." Of course, the maids tittered maliciously.

Narrowed my eyes, feeling Ivy weaken.

"Shut up," Ivy said quietly, eyes averted.

"You're with a hallboy. I'm with a footman," Stella countered, as if it meant something. (It's Alfred, for god's sake.)

Well, Stella. I'm with the under-butler. Take that.

"And let's not forget who Mr. Barrow chose," she suddenly added, stepping close to Ivy and whispering in bitch.

My fists clenched. Where was Mrs. Patmore? Or Carson? Or Mrs. Hughes? Where are all the authority figures in this damn household? They're always abound whenever _I_ step a toe out of line!

"Mr. Barrow did not choose you! I-I just knew that nothing was going to come of it, so I let him go, and then he went to—"

Thin ice.

"Me? Oh, yes he did. Paint it however you like, Ivy, but Mr. Barrow wanted _me_ , and if it weren't for—"

"I THINK WE NEED TO JUST CALM DOWN." I heard my voice thunder, taking a step between the two glaring, flushed girls. I set my fiercest glare on Stella. "You best run off to your useless second footman, tramp. Go on. Shoo."

Stella gaped at me. "What's your problem?"

Really?

"My problem is you being a nasty mess. Now GO."

She rolled her eyes. "It weren't anything serious," she grumbled, but stalked off all the same, her minions scuttling behind.

Happy to see it go, I turned toward a shining Ivy. "I don't know why she's so nasty to you."

Beaming, she shook her head. "It's only because of Mr. Barrow, but no matter. Thank you, Jimmy! That were very kind of you."

Smiled, allowing a little puff of pride in my chest. "Oh, it was nothing." Paused, then continued, unable to resist. "But you best not speak of Mr. Barrow anymore. Don't want any unnecessary trouble."

She nodded. "You're right. That was…all the past." Her smile was lacking.

Feeling the agitation of curiosity, I pressed on just once more. "Do you still care for him?"

The increasing flush of her cheeks, shiny eyes, and newfound focus on the vegetables provided my answer. "I'm very fond of Benjamin," replied her wavering voice.

Ah.

Suppose I will have to beat them off with sticks for the rest of my life.

"I best return to my work," I said easily, then shared one last smile and walked off.

Apr 25

1:11 am

Had another spring-scented and starry night-ed walk with Thomas. He was in a surprisingly good mood (Carson let him off early for the day since the family were out) and so, naturally, I used this to my advantage.

"Stella's a bit of a bother, isn't she?" I asked casually, walking in synch with him.

He glanced over to me. "How so?"

"Oh. Well. You know. Her and Alfred are indecent."

"Why do you say that?"

"Because they're annoying."

He laughed and shook his head. "Some could say the same about you."

I stopped. "What? Did somebody say something about me?"

"Only me," he grinned, then ruffled my hair.

Glared, attempting to smooth out the damage, then kept walking. "Well, she's a troublesome sort, so it wouldn't be out of order to get rid of her."

"Stella? She's done nothing wrong. The staff seem to like her. She's a very charming girl," he breathed easily, tapping ash off of his cigarette.

"To you," I mumbled.

He shot me a look. "You want me to dismiss Stella because I hung about her for a time, don't you?"

"No."

"Yes."

I chose my words carefully. "I'm not asking you to _dismiss_ her… Just…tweak her job requirements a bit. You know…like…perhaps have her work outside of Downton?"

Flatly. "So have her work at another house."

"Exactly."

"Jimmy."

"What? I'm not saying sack the bitch, I'm just suggesting—"

"You know, come to think of it. Her work has been a bit rubbish."

I held my breath.

Could feel my eyes brighten with the shreds of pure, glowing hope. "Oh, it really has."

"And maids are very easy to find. Perhaps I should—"

"Sack the bitch," I said automatically, feeling the clouds part and the rays of hope triumph.

He grinned wickedly. "Point proven."

Frustrated, I jumped forward, blocking his path, and placed my hands on either side of his face. I looked up at him, adopting my keenest expression. Time to put my arresting good looks to use.

"But Thomas…" I pouted, tilting my head to catch the cool light of the moon (which I know does wonders for my eyelashes and skin alike.)

"Not a chance." He moved his head to kiss the palm of my right hand, eyes still holding that amused separation that I've grown to crave, before continuing on his way.

I sighed, watching his smooth strut.

At least I tried!

Is such a stubborn man.

Apr 27

10:12 am

Have not seen Thomas much as of late. He's been running around for Mr. Carson—sending messages to relations about Lady Mary's baby, already making arrangements for the christening, the celebrations, the announcements, setting up the nursery, creating a special diet…the list goes on.

My poor darling is on the verge of death.

Is such an unfair job…

10:43 am

Oops.

"Mr. Barrow's been having an awfully hard time as of late," Daisy commented as she watched him fly past, a list of chores in hand.

Felt my chest weaken at the sight. Never a moment's rest for Thomas.

"Well, serves him right," Alfred bumbled, tugging on his sleeves.

I glared at him. "How dare you say that. He's working unjustly hard, with barely enough time for himself! You wouldn't know what that's like," I snarled.

I felt the stares.

"What's it to you?" Alfred challenged, surprised. Stella, who was at his side, was peering at me quizzically.

Ivy and Daisy held the same innocent expression.

And Mrs. Patmore was watching my face a little too closely.

Was frozen with fear.

"Nothing. I couldn't care less about the man. You're just an idiot," I flashed, then walked away.

They must never suspect I'm even _friends_ with Thomas.

Or it will be the beginning of the end.

Apr 29

6:31 am

Last night, could only walk Thomas to his door since he was so tired.

"I'm sorry for the early night," he sighed, rubbing his eyes.

I placed my hand on his forearm, and caught his eye. "I don't mind. Besides, you can always make it up to me."

A smirk. "And how's that?"

"I haven't gotten any love poems or flowers in awhile…"

"You really are a girl, aren't you?"

I stepped on his foot.

He laughed through the intense pain I'm sure he felt, and opened his door. "Tomorrow should be better. The family will be dining at friend's."

"So the night off?" I asked excitedly.

"The night off," he affirmed, and winked. "If you're good, you can rub my feet."

Was about to smack him, but like lightening, he bolted into his room and shut the door.

That sneaky, pompous devil.

Nevertheless, I pressed my lips to the crack of his door.

"Goodnight, Mr. Barrow."

A pause.

"Goodnight James," came the muffled reply.

Walked back to my room, replaying the conversation happily in my head.

Am excited for tonight! Perhaps we can watch the sun rise!

4:02 pm

Today is dragging.

Molesley keeps telling everybody about the flower show coming up next month and how his father won once. As if anybody cares.

And don't get me started on Alfred and Stella. She was actually feeding him biscuits earlier.

No.

Just no.

8:59 pm

Soon I will be with Thomas! After this wretched day, this is exactly what I need.

9:23 pm

Molesley is talking to me about seeds.

Help me.

11:51 pm

"Finally!" I exclaimed upon entering Thomas' room at long last, seeing him lying on the bed, eyes staring blankly up at the ceiling.

He turned to me, suppressing a smile. "Someone's excited tonight."

I grinned, happily making my way over to him, before pressing my lips to his. He tasted like cigarettes—I wonder if I'm going to develop an addiction?

"I'm _very_ excited. I missed you," I muttered, dabbing kisses onto his cheeks before tucking my head into the warm sanctity of his neck.

Felt rather than heard his chuckling, and his arms wrapped around me.

"Didn't you miss me?" I asked, playing with the fabric of his shirt.

"You know I did," he said easily.

Hm. Couldn't think of anything more than that, eh Thomas? For instance, 'I missed you more than a shadowed garden misses the sun?' 'Or the sun the moon?' 'Or the moon the sun?'

This man needs to extend his vocabulary. Why is it that sometimes he speaks so sweetly, but is so reserved more often than not?

"Thomas," I began, bringing my head up to look him in his placid, azure eyes. "Why do you act so…distant sometimes?"

There. I was addressing the problem and being a mature and able man.

God, this was nerve-wracking.

I waited for his response.

He regarded me for a moment, then looked away, emotion withheld (as was his custom). "I'm afraid I don't know what you mean, James."

Oh no. He's not going to pull this rubbish.

I scowled at him. "Yes you do. Don't act like that. Something's wrong—you just called me 'James.' Now, just talk to me, Thomas. If we're going to work, you need to talk to me."

My voice sounded alien to me. Have never spoken so openly about feelings before. (Left me panicked and self-conscious and thinking of excuses to run out of the room.)

Still, I maintained eye contact and held my head high.

I watched as his eyes fixed on the fireplace, and the way his eyelashes drooped with each measured blink. They cast little spear shadows on his cheeks. Beautiful little elongated points, contrasting against pearly, lickable, skin. So beautiful. So beautiful that I should probably kiss each little shadow spear. Because I can.

No.

No, Jimmy. Focus.

Words. This is a time for words.

At long last, Thomas looked back to me, void of emotion. Not a good sign.

"It's nothing to do with you," his quiet voice confessed as he entangled his hand with mine. Offered him a half-smile as I rubbed my thumb against his. "It's a delicate situation," he finally concluded.

I dropped my head, playing with his pristine fingernails. Well, shit. Back to this.

"I know. It's hard." I paused. "I wish I wasn't this way," I muttered.

His eyes flashed. "What?"

I sighed.

Why can't he just understand?

I gave him a pained expression. "Not because of you, just because… Because it's difficult! It's not fair! Everybody else gets to publicize their affections and get married and have children. What do we have?"

Could see that he was obviously struggling between boxing my ears and replying sympathetically.

With a twitch of a vein, he brought his hand to my chin, turning my face to stare directly into his.

"Jimmy Kent. Listen to me. Life's not fair. But we can't wish it away, can we? We've got to deal with what we've got, and it may not be ideal, but we have each other. And what we have—what's between us—is more important than what any of _them_ have." His voice was hard, but undercurrents of affection punctuated each line.

Felt mixes of emotions—I only wish it were as simple as he said—but felt more happy than anything. Happy that this man was before me, telling me he cares, telling me we don't need anybody, telling me that it will always be us—fuck the world.

It's no longer Jimmy contra mundum. It's Thomas and Jimmy contra mundum.

Could only offer a watery smile. (I will not cry in front of Thomas. I will not cry in front of Thomas.)

Observing my obviously charged emotional state, he released me, pressing a delicate kiss to the corner of my mouth.

"I do care about you, Jimmy," he whispered against my skin. "Ardently."

I clutched the bed post before I could swoon.

"Ardently?" I squeaked, feeling hot flashes.

He nodded, staring at me intently, eyes lazy yet powerful, his hands working their way to my hair, his lips leaning in to brush against the curve of my jaw, my temple, the bit of space between my nose and my eye.

"' _You've taught me the divine secret of the world_ ,'" he murmured, lips drifting around my face.

This man was made of sexy fire. Sexy ice fire. (With those cutting blue eyes and that fevered touch.)

What should I say?

It needs to be just as romantic.

But words, what are words?!

Think, Jimmy. Be clever! Be romantic!

"You're so perfect," I blathered, eyes lost in his.

Dammit.

He smirked, swiping a finger along my lower lip.

"Yes. I am."

And with that (I couldn't even smack him I was so overcome), we settled into bed and proceeded to place bets over when Stella and Alfred's relationship would finally deteriorate.

Was the most romantic night of my life.

Apr 30

6:38 am

Am very happy, Diary. Happy to be with Thomas, happy to be working here…just happy.

But I worry, too.

I worry every day that Thomas and I will be discovered. And what that will mean for me. I worry about how people would look at me, how I would be treated, how I would treat myself.

Is terrifying. I love him, but at what cost? It's only been a month and already we've both been faced with trials and disheartening conclusions.

The world will most certainly crumble without Thomas Barrow.

But what do I do if it crumbles with him?

3:33 pm

"You alright, Jimmy?" Anna asked as we sipped out tea, alone.

"Yes. Genuinely." I set my cup down. "And no."

She smiled sympathetically. "Care to talk?"

I returned the smile. "Thank you, but not just yet. It's…complicated."

A simple nod. "I understand."

After a moment's silence, I looked over to her. "You and Bates make it look so easy."

Her eyebrows shot up. "A death sentence, life imprisonment, a mad wife, and all odds stacked against us? I would hardly call that easy."

I blinked. I suppose I never thought of it that way before.

"But you keep going."

"Of course."

"Why?"

"Because…" she paused, finding the words. "Well, I suppose it's because I don't know how to stop loving him."

I stared at her, the words clicking into the very recesses of my own heart.

_I suppose it's because I don't know how to stop loving him._

I nodded. "That's a very good reason" I said quietly.

She smiled.

10:01 pm

Waiting for Thomas to come over. Miss him.

Can't stop thinking about my conversation with Anna…

Is it really that simple?

11:50 pm

I think we're going to be alright, Diary.

Thomas came to my room tonight. When he arrived, familiar smirk in place, he walked casually over to me, sliding his hand across my shoulders.

"Good evening."

"Hello, Thomas," I said, smiling up at him from my desk.

"Writing in your diary?"

Shrugged, closing the subject in question. "Just a little. How are you?"

"Exhausted," he sighed, sinking onto me bed.

I smiled, getting up to join him. "No surprise there."

He gave a humorless laugh, rubbing the stress out of his eyes and temples. Felt a pang at that.

Is not easy on him to be so tired all the time.

"You know, Thomas…" I said slowly, leaning down beside him. He made a noise of acknowledgement, but remained hidden beneath his hands. I swallowed, lying my hand on his chest. "You should…" Come on, Jimmy. Push through. Do this. For him. Even if it gives you heartburn. Because you love him. "You should tell Branson you want the job."

Thomas froze. "What?" he peered up at me.

I nodded, maintaining composure. "If you're this tired and you hate your job this much… I think you should be his valet."

He stared at me, eyes unreadable, before he sniggered. "A valet to a chauffeur? No, thank you."

I blinked.

What?

"But I thought—Don't you like him?"

"Very much. But I have a reputation to uphold."

"A reputation?" What on earth?

Who was this, again?

"Hm, yes. I can't go from an under-butler to Branson's valet. Please, Jimmy. Think before you speak."

Was torn between smacking him in the face and singing thank-you's to the heavens.

I settled for both.

"Ow!" he exclaimed, clutching his head and glaring at me.

I grinned wickedly. "That's what you get, sir." I kissed the offended bruise. "And that's what you get, as well. Fuck Branson!" My eyes darkened. "Not literally," I warned.

He half-laughed, shaking his head. "I still like him, so don't go expecting me to throw him to the dogs. I've just got me career in mind." He caught my eye. "And you."

I blinked, startled.

Wait a second…

"You aren't really bothered about your reputation at all, are you? You're doing this because of me," I said, feeling stabs of guilt blended affection.

Successfully avoiding eye contact, he pulled me downward. "Come. Lay with me."

Sneaky bugger.

Would normally fight the good fight, but Thomas' arms and a horizontal position were far too tempting. Without further argument, I settled myself in the warm haven that is Thomas, breathing in his polished and musky scent.

"I like you," I mumbled through the fabric of his shirt.

"I suppose that's good."

Pinched him.

"Ow! Would you stop that?!"

"Only if you stop being rude, you old man."

He pinched me.

"Ow!"

"Merely returning the favor."

Smiled in spite of myself, feeling completely happy.

Is strange how just the presence of a particular person can heal all wounds, soothe all sores, and make the world seem very uncomplicated. I almost don't hate Alfred, he makes me feel so good. (Almost.)

"Jimmy," suddenly rumbled Thomas' voice, in a tone that was far too distant for my liking.

I opened my eyes, eyelashes catching on his chest. "Yes?"

Silence.

I bit my lip, my uneasiness growing.

What's he going to say?

"What would you do if Alfred walked through the door this instant?"

Felt a hollow pang at the emptiness in his voice. "He probably would walk through a door, the clumsy clot," I joked half-heartedly.

"I'm serious."

"I thought you said shouldn't worry about this sort of thing unless it happens," I said in a strangled voice.

"I'm just curious."

Fear prickled. "I'd... Well, I'd have to think of something wouldn't I?" Why is he always asking me difficult questions I cannot answer?

"Would you turn on me?"

_What?_

I supported myself on my elbows, and looked up to meet his eye. "Why would you say that? Why would you ask me if I'd turn on you?" I kept my voice steady, but was unable to control the emotions on my face. (I've always had a traitor for a face—no matter what, it always reveals what I feel.)

He held my eyes, void of expression. "You've done it before."

I felt like I'd been punched in the stomach.

Do not like to speak of that time, Diary. Was a dark time, and so very long ago.

"Thomas… That was different. I barely even knew you then."

"You almost had me fired."

"You kissed me in my sleep!"

We stared at each other, too many emotions bombarding us at once.

Oh no, Diary. We are not supposed to do this. We were supposed to be past this! (This relationship is giving me gray hair.)

"Having said all of that…" I said quietly, watching as his icy face held back the barrage of feeling that had surged forward, "I wouldn't mind it now if you kissed me in my sleep. I mean it. Feel free to sneak into my room any time."

Despite his hazardous state, he actually cracked a smile. (Success!)

"Well. If that's an invitation…"

"It is," I said immediately, and his smile widened just enough to beg for a kiss. With a sigh of relief, I pressed my lips against his, brushing my fingers along the curve of his jaw.

"I'm sorry," he mumbled calmly as soon as we parted. His eyes remained on my lips. "I don't know why I keep bringing up these things."

"I'm sorry for not saying the right thing," I returned, enjoying the slide of my hands through his hair.

"Well, that's nothing new."

Rude.

I glared. "You best watch yourself, Mr. Barrow."

He grinned devilishly before returning his lips to mine.

Feel relieved, Diary. Feel that, even though we haven't quite mastered our relationship yet, that I can handle whatever will come. It doesn't have to be tense or dramatic or terrifying. I know now that it's worth it, we can do it, and just as Anna said—I don't know how to stop loving him.

Our ship may just have smooth sailing ahead.


	9. May

The Diary of Jimmy Kent

May

May 1

5:11 am

It's May! It's May! The lovely month of May!

The sun hasn't quite risen yet, but I can already see the beautiful life that has blossomed overnight!

Is the most beautiful month of them all, Diary! Absolutely, breathtakingly gorgeous! Marvelous! Bursting with feeling and thirty shades of green and pink!

It's May!

….

I should probably tell Thomas.

6:12 am

Went to Thomas' room in a very stealthy and silent manner, knocking with the gentlest care.

"Thomas!" I whispered through the crack of the door. Pressed my ear against the cold wood, hearing stirrings but nothing more. Cross, I pressed my lips tighter to the edge. "Thomas!" I whispered more urgently, knuckles lightly gliding down the door.

There was a pause, then a shuffling of feet, and then the door was being creaked open.

Two very disgruntled and puffy eyes greeted me. "What do you bloody think you're doing?"

"It's May!" I whispered excitedly through the mere inch of space he had provided for us. (Is a rude man. What kind of person leaves his fancy man standing in the hallway in naught but his nightclothes, and doesn't invite him in?)

Realizing I wasn't being asked anytime soon, I slid my arm through the crevice, then my shoulder, then my head, forcing Thomas to begrudgingly allow me entry.

"What are you doing? We're supposed to be up in less than an hour," he said gruffly, though whether it was from sleep or agitation, I was unsure. (Probably both. But do not care because Thomas is too grumpy for his own good. And it's May!)

"I'll leave before then, of course. But I was hoping we could watch the sun rise until then! Because it's May!"

He stared at me, barely masking his fangs. "' _It's May_.' What does that _mean_? It's May—it's another month. Your birthday's in November, why on earth are you so excited about what goddamn month it is? At five in the bloody morning?"

Aw. My precious baby is so cranky.

As I watched him blink his angry, blurry eyes and stifle back yawns, I couldn't help but sidle up next to him, tucking my head under his chin and sliding my hands around his warm waist.

"Because summer is almost here and it's a beautiful month and I was thinking we could go on a picnic."

"Right now?"

"Don't be daft. No, some night when we've both got a bit of time on our hands and the moon is full."

Happily, his anger began to dissipate. With a fondness that made my chest bloom, he cracked a smile and even allowed himself a chuckle. "You're such a girl."

"You're a rock."

"Do girls like rocks?"

"Girls love rocks," I said, bringing him over to the window and refusing to feel discomfort over having used the 'L' word. (And also refusing to look at his expression at said word. Is May. Will not ruin this joyous time.)

Sighing with his fresh loss, I felt Thomas' arm surround me as we stood side by side and peered out of the small window near his desk.

And we stared out in the expanses of…blackness.

There was no sun yet.

Not a peep.

Not even a star.

Not even a blink of anything other than empty, formless black.

Fuck. (When does the sun usually come up?)

"Yes, this is a beautiful view," came the dripping sarcasm.

I bristled. "Even if we don't see the loveliness with our eyes, we can see it in our hearts," I said through gritted teeth. "Now. Enjoy it before you ruin it, Thomas."

"I don't ruin things."

I shot him a glare which was met with an amused smirk.

We went back to staring at nothing.

Wait. Was the blue of the horizon becoming a shade lighter? Possibly?

"So," Thomas said smoothly, cutting through the silence as I debated the caliber of the sky. He turned me towards him before rubbing small circles along my back. "You've got plans for your first day of May? Going to pick flowers? Dance around the May pole?"

With the very obvious, ' _I'll dance around_ your _May pole, Mr. Barrow_ ,' on my mind, I grinned wickedly before I could think better of it, then took a step closer. "Are you trying to seduce me?" I asked, feigning shock, as I shifted forwards even more.

His returning grin was even more wicked than my own. "Depends. Am I succeeding?"

"Oh, I don't know," I sang, voice light as air, as I traced a finger along his bicep. (Love being a tease. Am very good at being a tease.) "I mean…I _suppose_ that we are together now." He nodded, his face coming closer. "And I _suppose_ that we have waited a very long time to…be together. And we have been on our best behavior," I added as his forehead brushed my own. "But...oh…I just don't know."

Felt his smile as his lips slid to my neck. "Well. I know."

"Do you?" I asked, biting back a grin and sliding my fingers through his uncharacteristically unkempt hair.

He hummed a 'yes.' "It is May, after all," he muttered between light kisses on my quickly flushing collarbone.

Very good point.

"Thomas Barrow," I said with a sigh. "I can't deny you anything."

And then he stopped.

Bloody what?

"What's wrong?" I began, but his tousled head was already raised and met with mine, his brow creased over stilled features.

"We don't have to, Jimmy. I know you wanted to wait. Since it was so…acrimonious last we partook."

Love Thomas, but sometimes wish he didn't speak to me as if he were writing up a business ledger.

Still, couldn't fight the very touched smile that picked at my lips (Thomas Barrow—under-butler of Downton Abbey and kisser of the sleeping—was actually _hesitant_ to make sexual advances toward me because he _cared_ too much to upset me. I don't care if I wake up being eaten alive by O'Brien tomorrow, my life is absolutely perfect) and brought his knuckles up to my lips.

"We have waited, Thomas. And I thank you for that. For doing it properly."

"As we should have done," he added, stretching his fingers to brush along my jaw.

Man is perfect. Perfect man. Perfect is man.

As we exchanged one last, almost shy, slow smile, he slowly leaned toward me and began to resume his whispers of kisses along my face and neck.

And then a thought struck me.

"But there is one catch." A pause. "We have about twenty minutes," I said, bringing his face up to look him in his glinting eyes.

He responded with a wink, a smile, and a press of his lips to mine. "That'll do."

He then proceeded to prove just why Thomas Barrow is the best boyfriend in the world. Was lovely, Diary. Special like, and sweet and romantic and, yes, maybe a bit hurried—but only in that perfect way where you cling to the other person out of loving need rather than as just a means to achieve an end.

Got back to my room before six with a little difficulty (is a torturous task to leave a naked man) and am now getting ready for the day. And oh yes, Diary: May is my favorite month of all time.

I think Thomas and I may just have to celebrate every day.

8:18 am

I hate my place of work.

"It's May!" I said happily as Alfred and I waited for the breakfast trays.

Ivy beamed. "I love this month! There's so much life and promise," she sing-songed, spooning jelly onto tiny, ornate dishes.

"Why do girls like the summer so much?" Alfred asked, watching Ivy's sweetness a little too closely, a dumpy smile taking up his face.

"Because it's beautiful, of course," Ivy replied looking up at him with bright eyes.

"Not as beautiful as you, I'm sure."

What the hell? Back to this again, are we?

I rolled my eyes. (Will Alfred ever stop being creepy?)

"Stella wouldn't like you saying that," a flushed Ivy reprimanded as Daisy paused her actions and watched the two with quiet eyes. Poor Daisy. I do hope she isn't still secretly pining for Alfred. Is such a waste of precious time.

Alfred just shrugged.

"Here you are," Mrs. Patmore suddenly said, hurrying toward us with a large tray of popovers. "I'll give you the omelets when you've come back down. Now take that bit up," she instructed me as Daisy and Ivy immediately set back to work.

"I wish I could eat like this," I muttered as I adjusted the tray in my hands, Alfred picking up the butter dish.

"Do you now? Well, you just may, Mr. Kent, you just may," she said with a wink as she bustled back to the oven.

With a large grin (is today perfect? YES IT IS!) I walked onward, eyes briefly meeting with Thomas who was in the servants' hall with Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes.

"She just called you 'Mr. Kent!'" Alfred whispered behind me in awe. "Like a proper valet or butler!"

"Hm, yes," I said nonchalantly, already distracted by the brief flash of bluest oceans and keeping the excited grin out of my voice as we climbed the stairs. "I recommend you get used to that, Alfred."

All hail May.

10:02 am

"What's got you skipping about?" came a quietly teasing Thomas in the deserted corridor.

Checking to see no one was about, I walked up to him, rubbing my stomach and contentedly grinning. "I just had the best breakfast of me life, courtesy of Mrs. Patmore."

"I'll never understand how you got under her good graces," he said, shaking his head. "She'dve strung me up if she could've when I was a footman."

"Well you see, I'm very charming," I gloated, giving him the eye.

With another glance around, Thomas stepped up to me, rubbing a hand down my chest. "Care to prove it?"

"At the soonest opportunity," I winked, rocking on my heels as he raked his eyes over me. (Hoped to God he couldn't hear the hammering of my heart against my chest, else it would ruin my very smooth and confident exterior and possibly shatter the walls.)

"Deal," he smiled, then stepped away.

Was just about to part, when I caught him by his sleeve. "Oh, and watch Alfred today. He's attempting to flirt with poor Ivy again."

Both eyebrows raised. "'Poor Ivy?' Don't you hate her?"

"No, I hate Stella."

"I thought you hated them both."

Why on earth is he so observant?

Cleared my throat. "That was a long time ago."

He smirked, but let the subject drop. "Right. Well, I'll do my best. A sweet girl like that doesn't deserve such onslaughts."

Ignored the 'sweet girl' comment, smiled, then walked away. Love that Thomas has authority. Feels like we are secret partners in crime, and I'm the spy to his detective. Like we're slowly changing the world and with our combined efforts, we are unstoppable.

Would love to change the world with Thomas.

Or at least change everybody I don't like.

7:11 pm

Saw Alfred watching Ivy and Benjamin.

I sincerely hope this isn't becoming a thing again. Do not need the added stress of dealing with broken hearts and jealousy.

Have already had enough of it for a lifetime.

May 2

12:38 am

"I'm almost certain Alfred fancies Ivy again," I sighed as Thomas and I walked our way under the stars and blossoms.

He nodded slowly, matching my every step. "You may be right. I had to tell him to shove off about three times because he was fussing about her. Do you know what's caused this so suddenly?"

Shook my head. "Maybe Stella's gone off of him. She is a tramp, after all."

Thomas chuckled. "You have such a way with words."

Grinning over at me, moonlight glowing about us and the perfume of flowers soaking into our clothes, I felt that this moment—this exact moment in time—was perfect.

And then it became more perfect.

Was just about to comment on how the weather has been doing stunning things to my hair when I suddenly felt an alien presence in my hand. I looked down, startled, only to see…

"You're holding my hand?" I asked, aghast, stopping dead in my tracks. I gaped at our interlocking fingers, unable to look away.

What was going on? Was this a cruel joke? Is he taunting me? After all, we're not very far from the house and in absolute plain sight and Thomas has made it very clear that—

"It would seem so," he smirked, tightening his hold and peering at me under long lashes that cut through his ivory splendor.

"But-but I thought you said—"

"It doesn't matter," he said simply, beginning to walk again and taking me with him. I stumbled alongside, staring at him with open mouth. "I want to hold your hand. Sod the world."

I blinked rapidly, wondering if the more I did so the more easily my mind could wrap around this development.

Is it possible to vomit up your own heart? Or any other vital organs? Or possibly singing angels? Can you combust in a chorus of song?

As we continued to walk—and he continued to stare smugly contentedly ahead of him while I stared slobberingly adoringly at his profile—I began to feel a small spark of daring flick in the pit of my stomach.

I tugged his hand, forcing him to stop.

"Thank you, Thomas," I said simply, staring into his lightly surprised eyes. Then, before he could say something sarcastic or condescending, I wrapped my hands around his neck, leaned forward, and kissed him. Diary, I kissed Thomas outside, in plain sight of the moon, the stars, the grass, and the flowers! I revealed our secret to the night sky and Mother Nature herself, and what was all the better was that my nervous, hopeful lips were met with kind, inviting ones.

When we broke apart, Thomas' solid arms around me, his eyes gazing at the swell of my mouth, I felt a damn break within me as my entire being surged with 'OH MY GOD, THIS IS THE HAPPIEST I WILL EVER BE IN MY LIFE.' And a little bit of 'I wish we were being filmed.'

Could only laugh as we stood there, wrapped up in each other, not giving a care to the world.

"I love May," I practically sang amidst breathy giggles. "Don't you?"

"I'll never admit to anything, but I think I may come close if we move this to your room."

"Spoken like a true gentleman."

"Would you expect anything less?"

And with one last press of the lips, we walked back to Downton, hand in hand, my heart singing in time with the crickets.

5:41 am

Have just left Thomas' room and am convinced that that man needs to stop wearing clothes for the remainder of his life. Looks much better without them.

6:27 am

I don't even care that my hair looks rubbish today, I am going to make each day count!

Hair be damned!

6:51 am

"Did you time this?" I heard a teasing voice say from down the hall as I was leaving my room.

I closed my door with a muffled click, already smiling, before turning around. "Why, Mr. Barrow! Fancy seeing you here! Come to escort me downstairs?"

"Well, I can't let a lady walk by herself in these parts, now can I?" was the cheeky reply, accompanied by an offered arm.

Couldn't help but take it (I know that I shouldn't have, what with the chance of someone leaving their room at that time about 100%, but damn the world) and smiled up at him with a look that I hoped said, 'I'm-not-a-lady-you-fucker,' but more realistically gushed, 'You're-beautiful-in-the-morning-and-I-want-to-live-in-your-trousers.'

"I like your hair today," he mumbled, looking over.

Sweet mother of all that is holy.

I love this man.

11:11 am

Just saw Alfred and Stella all over each other in the servants' hall. Maybe he still likes her after all?

11:39 am

"Daisy, do you still fancy Alfred?" I asked because I could (nobody was about and I had a bit of down time).

She almost dropped the pan of bread dough she was carrying.

"Who? What? No. Don't be silly." She smashed the pan onto the counter with Zeus strength. "I don't have time to fancy anybody." (Is she supposed to punch the dough like that?)

"Well. Even if you…did…" I began cautiously, eyeing her violent movements, "I would say that he's not worth your time. He has red hair."

She looked up to me, glaring. "What does that even mean?"

Am not used to seeing Daisy as a scary person. (Mrs. Patmore is teaching her very well.) "Uh. Nothing. I best be off," I finished uncomfortably before leaving the kitchen awkwardly, refusing to turn my back to her.

So I guess that's a 'yes' then. Poor, violent girl.

12:04 pm

"Did you know Daisy is terrifying?" I whispered to a passing Thomas.

He stopped, briefly. "Did you say Daisy?"

I nodded. "Don't make her angry, whatever you do. I've never seen such fright. It rivaled Patmore!"

An eyebrow arched and he grinned impishly. "Well, now I'm just curious."

"Thomas!" I warned, but he was already walking away, crossing paths with O'Brien.

I hope he doesn't cause a ruckus.

4:24 pm

Just walked in on Thomas flirting with Daisy. Actually flirting.

"I'll never understand why everybody's in such a fuss over Ivy when you're the true beauty of the household."

YES. He ACTUALLY said that. That is a DIRECT QUOTE, Diary.

Setting aside the fact that it was he himself who _courted_ Ivy, I find it absolutely abominable that he flirts with girls like there's no tomorrow.

You don't see me drooling over Anna!

Hm.

Maybe that's what needs to be done.

4:59 pm

I'm ready to die now. Right now.

Found Anna in Mrs. Hughes' sitting room. So of course I told Thomas to meet me there in five minutes, revenge fermenting within my mind. (Felt very clever about it all, too.)

"Well, hello. What are you doing?" I asked Anna in my manliest voice as I walked in. Can't wait till Thomas arrives to see me dashingly flirting with Anna! Let's see how he likes it.

"I'm just waiting for Mrs. Hughes to return," she smiled. "How's your day been, Jimmy?"

I cleared my throat and took a stance. "Not as lovely as you look." (This is flirting, right?)

She stared at me.

"Um. … Thank you."

I shifted. This was already awkward. (How does Thomas do it?) "Er. No need to thank me! Your beauty is thanks enough. I only wish I could feast on it like I would…er…fruit."

Shit. Shit shit shit. I haven't done this in awhile. I may be getting rusty. (Oh no! Am I turning into Alfred?!)

"What?" she asked, face scrunching in confusion.

"You're delicious?" I supplied, feeling the beginnings of panic. "You know. I want to eat you." Ohmygod. "Like fruit!" Stop. "It's a metaphor!" STOP, Jimmy.

My face was burning.

Anna stared at me, mouth agape.

(Where the fuck is Thomas?)

"Jimmy, are you alright?" she asked, genuinely concerned.

"Er-yes, I just-just want to reassure you how attractive you are and how much I would like to partake in…telling you that and…giggle and play with your hair and…act amorously without serious intent and…I'm trying to make you smile."

It was as if my brain had literally died and refused to work in any way, shape, or form. I was blurting out words that I associated with flirting as if I were reading a dictionary.

It was horrifying.

Her responding look was even more horrifying.

"What on earth are you talking about?" She was fully turned toward me now, staring at me like a science exhibit.

"We're flirting?" I attempted with a hopeful smile.

She blinked her surprise as she continued to stare, clearly at a loss for what to do. There was only one thing that could have made the situation more grotesque.

So, naturally, it happened.

Thomas walked in at that moment. With Bates. And out fled any desire of mine to live.

They both stopped, mid-conversation, and looked between the two of us. I can only imagine how guilty I must've looked and how disturbed Anna did.

"What's going on?" Bates asked, staring at Anna's face imploringly.

"Yes, James, what's going on?" Thomas asked, a little less kindly.

"Well. Er."

I looked to Anna. She looked at me. We looked at each other.

And the silence swirled.

"Are you okay?" Bates pressed, hobbling to her side.

"Yes," she assured, eyes on me. "But I'm not sure Jimmy is."

All eyes now on me.

"Oh, I'm fine!" I reassured, slowly backing toward the door.

"James," Thomas warned.

Adorning fake cheer, I smiled up at him. "Well, I best be off! That tea isn't going to serve itself!"

And I ran out of the room.

Am never flirting again.

11:00 pm

The people in this house are a bunch of gossipy hens.

"Why on earth were you flirting abysmally with Anna today?" Thomas demanded no sooner had I stepped into the night air.

And here we go.

"Well, why on earth were you flirting with Daisy? I heard you!" I added importantly before he could protest.

His brow furrowed. "Daisy? I was only trying to rile her up so I could see some of that famous temper of hers that you were going on about. Why?"

Oh.

Shit.

Then it dawned on him. "Oh my god, Jimmy. Were you trying to get back at me by harassing Anna?"

I felt my face reddening but stood all the taller. "I were only flirting because I felt like it," I sniffed, looking away.

"It was a train wreck, you know. She was visibly shaken."

I shuffled uneasily and shot him a glare. (I hope Anna isn't mad at me!)

"And that's why you told me to meet you there, isn't it?"

"Maybe. But why did you bring Bates?! Why would you bring a third party—especially one like that?! What if I was going to seduce you?"

He scoffed. "In Mrs. Hughes' room? Hardly. Besides, he needed to ask me something about the family's trip to London next month. It seemed rude to be rid of him." As IF Thomas cares about rudeness.

"Well it was bloody embarrassing!"

"Whose fault is that?"

Pursed my lips and looked away.

There was a pause.

"Did you really tell her that you wish you could feast on her like fruit?"

And with that I stalked off into the night.

"I'm only asking!" Thomas laughed, and I heard his footsteps catching up to me as I refused to break my stride.

Took awhile for me to speak to him again, but I did.

Is still very horrifying, Diary. Must apologize to Anna as soon as possible.

May 3

2:47 pm

I AM A CHAMPION AMONG MEN.

Today at luncheon, Alfred tripped on a chair leg and almost sent boiling soup flying onto Her Ladyship. Lucky for my cat-like reflexes, I was able to steady him with my left hand and grab the soup with the other, quelling most of the damage. Was only a bit of slop on Lady Edith (oh well) and a stain or two on the new tablecloth (which did not go unnoticed by a very gaping mouthed Carson) but all in all, disaster was averted.

Couldn't help but flash Alfred a very smug smile.

"Heavens. I must say, you've a quick arm, James," His Lordship commented, standing up. "I'm impressed."

Kept my grin modest as I ducked my head. "Not at all, m'lord. I'm just happy the damage was minimized."

"Indeed." He was peering at me with something like suspicious awe. (Sometimes get the feeling that His Lordship doesn't like me and only begrudgingly praises my actions…)

"Well, I must thank you again for your steady eye, James—you've done very well. And Alfred, please be more mindful in the future," Her Ladyship said, eyeing us both with the eyes of a superior.

I certainly wouldn't want to be Alfred right now. (Hehe)

May is such a smashing success thus far.

3:13 pm

May is even more of a success.

Was in the servants' hall chatting with Anna and some maids when Carson came in. Just as we were standing up, his great brows sought me and in his baritone he merely said, "James. Come."

Shit.

Felt the blood drain just a bit and Anna's hand on my arm.

"I'm sure it's nothing," she said comfortingly.

I nodded to her (Anna is lovely but naïve) before walking to death's door.

As soon as I entered his office, he closed the door.

Shit.

With a stiff air, he turned around and remained silent, appraising me under his steady brow.

Oh god. What is this about? He's looking at me like I have tentacles. It's my hair isn't it? Thomas was lying this morning when he said he liked my hair. That rat was probably only saying that so I would get in trouble and be humiliated in front of everyb—

"Your actions at luncheon today were very tasteful, James."

…

Excuse me?

"I…" He faltered for a minute, his professionalized face grudgingly attempting a softer expression. And failing miserably. He began to walk over to his desk.

My eyes followed him, completely at a loss as to what was coming next. Surely he didn't call me in to thank me? Carson has barely spoken a word to me in months—why now?

He sat down at his desk and pressed the tips of his fingers together, creating the increasingly intimidating image of a mad doctor with an agenda. "I know that I have been…preoccupied with the goings on of upstairs, particularly concerning Lady Mary and her child. However, I want you to know that I have been keeping an eye on you and your hard work has not gone unnoticed. Today's events have especially been noted with appreciation."

I swallowed.

"You have done well, James. And I will keep this in mind, should any future…developments take place."

What?

What is happening?

Did Mr. Carson just imply that should a raise arise….he would _consider me?_

_Is my career taking off?_

The sky is falling.

"Er-th-thank you, Mr. Carson!" I spluttered, unable to blink.

He nodded curtly, then gestured toward the door. "You may go."

I forced my legs to walk.

"And James."

I turned around.

His eyes studied me. "Mrs. Patmore has been telling me that you've been treating the staff with great consideration as of late. Even young Alfred." A pause. "Keep up the good work."

I nodded, then left.

I am going to pass out.

May 4

1:11 am

"Tom told me what happened at luncheon today," Thomas smirked through his smoke, leaning against the shadowed wall.

Withheld a roll of the eye. "Did Carson tell you about what happened after?"

"Did you end up dumping the soup anyway—ow!" Love pinching Thomas.

"No, you buffoon. Carson called me into his office. Told me how pleased he was with me."

"Oh?" he asked, eyes too wide for Thomas.

My suspicion alerts were going off.

… "Thomas," I said accusingly, looking him in the eye. "Did you tell Carson to start talking to me more?"

"Whatever would give you that impression?"

I sighed and looked away. Should have known.

"What?" His voice altered to that of actual confusion. "I thought you'd be pleased."

"I was. Until I found out it was because _you_ put him up to it." He stopped walking and stared at me, so I stopped too. "I thought he wanted to praise me out of his own free will." Folded my arms across my chest and bit my lip, a little surprised at the raging disappointment within me. Don't know why I could have thought otherwise. Carson never hands out compliments. Especially to me.

"He praises you all the time. All I did was encourage him to actually voice the things he says to Mrs. Hughes and I on a daily basis, to you. Nothing more. So you needn't be so damn put out about it, seeing as I've done you a favor."

Bitch, please?

Keeping my temper at bay, I looked over and saw that look in Thomas' eyes—the tightness around the corners that says, in the blink of an eye, he's already genuinely angry and defensive. Which only makes _me_ angry and defensive.

"Don't act like that! I've every right to feel put out if you're constantly doing me favors and don't let me get anything done on me own! I have just as much right as you to prove myself! I'd rather Carson treats me how he wants to treat me, rather than as some pet you've given him! It's not fair!"

 

And now he's turned livid.

"Not _fair_?! You're the queen of the household, you're the bloody golden boy, and you're saying it's not _fair_?! Because you're not ignored like the hallboys or laughed at like Alfred? You think it's unfair because I'm giving you opportunities that I know are dear to you? Your life is so terrible, you poor thing." His untouched cigarette was burning down to ash and his eyes were positively explosive.

I should not have been as turned on as I was.

"I am very displeased with you," I said for good measure, turning to him. "But it's time for bed."

He scoffed. "Of course. You're running away again. And here I thought you'd finally ridden of that habit."

"No. _Thomas_." I looked him in the eye. "Take me now."

Vaguely aware that I had just actually used the phrase ' _take me now,'_ I continued to stare at him in a way I hoped conveyed that he didn't have a choice.

The look on his face was a perfect mixture of confusion and hilarity.

"I'm sorry, what?"

"You heard me," I plowed on despite feeling heat prickle at my skin more out of embarrassment than desire.

"I did." He eyed me for a moment before flicking his cigarette away. "So that's how we're solving this?"

I shook my head. "I'm not letting you off that easy. But we can talk later." I stared at his mouth. It quirked the smallest amount. "If you catch my drift."

I was met with a bemused stair, but nothing else.

"Thomas. _Now_."

Finally, he nodded, his grin growing. "After you," he said, taking a step back and gesturing me forward.

With a pace that I hoped wasn't too desperate, I ran into the house and up the stairs, Thomas at my heels.

(We certainly don't waste time, I'll give us that.)

Afterwards, we did talk.

"I don't want you to do too any special favors for me," I mumbled sleepily, wrapped in his sweet embrace.

"I'll only do the ones I think absolutely necessary. How about that?"

I blinked up at him. "On the rare occasion, only?"

"On the rare occasion only," he promised, then kissed my hair.

I think fights with Thomas have become my new favorite thing.

May 6

12:37 pm

Hm.

Was in the servants' hall with Thomas who had just gotten back from the village.

"I got you something that I know you'll love more than anything else in the world," he whispered, eyes darting about before he reached in his jacket.

"I love presents!" I didn't-squeal, and closed my eyes happily, extending out my hands.

It was a mirror.

"Thomas," I glared, but couldn't help but admire the tiny, ornate beauty of it. And oh, my eyes look absolutely sparkling today!

Lost myself in staring at it for the briefest moment and heard his light chuckle. "Exactly as I thought."

Glared at him again, but my smile was very much there. "Thank you for thinking of me," I said bashfully, feeling warm and gooey and fluttery.

Was just debating the foolishness of a quick kiss when the sound of footsteps made us both turn.

Anna. And O'Brien.

Immediately I stuffed the mirror in my pocket.

"What are you two up to?" O'Brien asked immediately, no transaction necessary.

"Good afternoon, Miss O'Brien," Thomas said easily, gliding past her. "Anna," he nodded with a smile, then vanished.

Leaving both sets of eyes to me.

"Hello," I said awkwardly.

"What were you speaking with Mr. Barrow about?" O'Brien pressed as Anna took a seat.

"Oh, leave him alone. It's naught to do with you, I can assure you."

I shot Anna a thankful smile and settled down beside her. "What are you doing?" I asked her, ignoring the petulant O'Brien, and giving my best grin.

"I'm knitting a blanket for the baby," she smiled. "Would you like to help?"

"Knitting is women's work," I said automatically, ignoring the very interested curiosity within me.

She gave me a look. "You don't honestly believe in that sort of thing."

I swallowed, glancing at O'Brien. Did not want to feed her any reasons to start picking at me, but knitting always did seem so peaceful…

"Perhaps you could show me…just for a laugh?" I offered.

Anna smiled. "Of course."

"It's a waste of your time. Young men shouldn't be knitting."

"See, you first wrap the yarn around the needle like this."

And just like that, we ignored O'Brien.

May 7

10:51 am

Drama at Downton, Diary.

Was in the kitchen today with Daisy, Ivy, Alfred, and Stella.

"Benjamin asked me to go on a walk with him tonight," Ivy was telling Daisy excitedly as she poured batter into large pan. "I think he's going to tell me he loves me!"

"He's a fool for not saying it already," Alfred immediately commented as Stella nearly spat out her tea.

"Alfred!" she scolded, smacking him on the arm.

"Well?" he supplied, and I resisted smacking my own forehead.

Hate Stella, but admire how she manages to deal with Alfred on a daily basis and not throw herself off of a pier.

"That's kind of you, Alfred," Ivy blushed, and Daisy nudged her.

"No, it's not. It's foolish. Keep to yourself and stop eavesdropping," Daisy scolded, and was it just me or is Daisy's hair beginning to turn a bit red and frizzy?

"I agree with Daisy," I said matter-of-factly, and Stella nodded.

"As do I, _Alfred_ ," she said icily, and shot a vehement look over to Ivy. "And weren't you just saying how you wanted to take me to the pictures tonight?"

"I was?" She kicked him in the shin. "OH! Oh, yes. I was."

Stella beamed sunnily then looked over to Ivy. "Have fun on your _walk_ ," she said patronizingly, then dragged Alfred out of the room with her.

"You best watch out. I think he's beginning to fancy you again," I warned a startled Ivy.

"But I haven't done nothing to encourage it," she insisted.

"Starving wolves don't need encouragement to attack a lamb, now do they?" Daisy muttered under her breath, absolutely mutilating the apple she was slicing.

Ivy's jaw dropped while mine erupted into an enormous grin.

"That's my girl," I said proudly, brushing a knuckle on Daisy's grubby cheek before walking away.

Perhaps there is hope for her yet, Diary.

10:59 pm

I have the best boyfriend in the world.

Was playing piano in the servants' hall when Carson dismissed everybody to bed. I stayed behind, enjoying fiddling with the keys and the beautiful sounds I could create. Just as I was tapping out a beautiful little ditty, a smooth, pale hand covered my own, instantly stilling my movements and leaving only the echo of melody.

"Am I really that bad, Mr. Barrow?" I asked without looking up.

"I don't know how you manage to play so beautifully," he mumbled quietly, more to himself than me.

I caught his eye before he continued to stare at my hand, his own slowly stroking my fingertips.

"I dare say you have the most skilled hands in the house, James."

Oh, do I ever.

I raised an eyebrow. "No smoke tonight?" I guessed.

"No smoke tonight."

And we headed upstairs.

I love him, I love him, I love him. I don't even care that I'm writing this in his room with his almost-asleep figure at my side.

I love Thomas Barrow.

11:03 pm

Maybe I should tell him. Maybe May is the month.

It's not like he doesn't already know.

11:04 pm

It's just a word.

11:05 pm

But what if he doesn't say it back?

11:06 pm

I'm going to do it. It's May. The time of awakening and miracles.

I'll do it sly like and graceful—like a cat. I am the cat.

11:07 pm

... I'm gonna do it. Now.

11:08 pm

…

The cat is going to wait until tomorrow.

For now: sleep.

May 9

12:01 pm

I am the best boyfriend in the world.

"I have some free time," I whispered to Thomas in passing. "If you're free, we can go to the village to pick up that polish Mrs. Hughes keeps banging on about?"

"Any other day I would agree without hesitation, m'boy. But I've got a prior engagement."

"A prior engagement? Do you have to clean Carson's boots?"

I received a narrowing of the eyes. "Not quite. I'm having lunch with Tom."

…

Now.

The _old_ Jimmy would have exploded in a wave of expletives and irrational accusations.

The _new_ Jimmy merely just smiled, nodded, and willed himself to be void of any and all emotion.

"How quaint," I said through a plastered-on smile. "That will be such good fun."

He gave me a dubious look. "You needn't sound so forced, Jimmy. I know you don't like him. But I appreciate your understanding. And don't worry—just stare at yourself in that little mirror I got you. I assure you, the time will fly—ow! You bit me!"

"Only because I had to."

He rubbed his shoulder and stared at me with something akin to alarm. "I'm going to have to get you a rabies shot if this keeps up."

"Hey! I'm clean!"

"Hm. Branson's not. And speaking of, I best go and meet up with that filthy young man, else he'll think I've ditched him. Until later, James," he teased, dashing out of my reach before I could bite AND pinch.

Lord, I am being tested.

4:31 pm

"How was your luncheon with Branson?" I asked Thomas at the soonest opportunity.

"Delightful."

"Anything interesting…?"

"No, not particularly."

"I see. Well. That's nice. You should go to lunch with him more often." (I think my blood vessels broke when I said that.)

"I was just thinking the same thing! Perhaps you could even join us."

"Yes. Perhaps."

Do you see, Diary? I am becoming a perfect human being, fully in control of my emotions and fully secure in my relationship with Thomas.

May 10

6:30 am

Have woken up very refreshed, Diary. Thomas and I had an early night because we've both been a bit knackered, so we just relaxed in his bed and I wrote in my diary while he read. Was utterly perfect. We're turning into quite the old couple.

Do not mind. Being with Thomas is the most wonderful thing that has ever happened to me. Only wish I had the courage to tell him I love him. Must be special when I do. Must do it under a starry sky with music wafting in the air and our best suits on and there must be champagne and chocolates and soft blankets and perfumes and hair combing and butterflies and nightingales and white lilies and poetry and shiny shoes.

Maybe today will be the day!

8:01 am

Heard Carson and Mrs. Hughes discussing Lady Mary's baby at breakfast today.

"It will be quite exciting to have another little one wandering about, with her mother's grace and Mr. Crawley's manners," said a fond-eyed Carson, cutting up his egg.

Mrs. Hughes glanced up at him. "So you expect a girl? Why not a wee chap? After all, he would be the heir."

"Well, I've no objection to a boy, but I certainly wouldn't mind a young Lady Mary wandering around the house."

"You do realize that it's not the actual Lady Mary?" said Mrs. Hughes with noticeable exasperation in her voice.

Carson looked absolutely affronted. "Of course I do! Don't be absurd!" But the blink of his eyes told a different story.

Think it's very sweet how invested Carson has been about the whole affair. I hope it's a little girl for his sake.

1:38 pm

Have been in the best mood today!

Even when Alfred said: "Oi, listen to this—Stella's jealous cuz I keep looking at Ivy. I'll have two women fighting over me before the month's out, I'm telling you." (Though who the second woman is, I could not tell you, Diary. Ivy has to be reminded that Alfred exists—she's not about to fight for him.)

But I responded very cheerily with a: "That's so special, Alfred."

And not long after that, Thomas threw me a wink from across the room as I was chatting with Anna about sunflowers.

I am happy as a gilt clam.

2:17pm

"What's got you smiling?" Thomas suddenly asked me as I was on my way downstairs, pulling me into an empty corridor.

Smiled even wider at this unexpected encounter, and feeling daring, I wrapped my arms around his neck, pulling him close enough to smell his aftershave.

"Oh, I'm just thinking about the most beautiful day in the world."

He raised an eyebrow, his hands on my hips. "One where you stand in front of a mirror all day?"

I bit him.

"Ow! You need to stop doing that—it's going to leave a mark sooner or later!" (He's so dramatic.)

I rolled my eyes. "Just blame it on someone else."

He quirked an eyebrow. "I'm not quite sure how that solves anything."

"It looks much less shady."

"And yet I don't believe anybody would actually bite me."

"Mrs. Patmore?" I offered.

His eyes slid away in brief contemplation before returning and capturing mine. "You may be on to something, young James."

"I'm not young!"

"No, you're right, you're not young at all. Or at least, that's what that patch of gray hair is telling me."

Despite my manliest efforts, I could not withhold a shriek as I clutched my hair. "Where?!"

With a grin that implied he'd just swallowed a canary, Thomas slipped out of my arms and walked away, adjusting his jacket.

That bastard!

"Thomas!" I hissed, but he kept on, and I was left with an empty corridor and a potentially catastrophic head of salt-n-pepper hair.

Have been staring in the mirror for 45 minutes now. Am unable to find the gray patch, but am wondering if I should dye it anyway? If Thomas could see it, then everybody could see it.

Must not have that.

3:33 pm

Just found Anna.

"Do you see any gray in my hair?" I whispered when we were alone.

She furrowed her brow. "Why ever would you ask such a question?"

"I've got me reasons. Now, do you?"

Sweetheart that she is, she set down her tea and did a thorough going over of my head as I closed my eyes and sent as many prayers as I knew upward.

At long last she shrugged. "Not one. You've not one hair that is any shade different. You're too young for that sort of thing."

Damn that Thomas.

"I thought so as well. It just must have been the lighting," I smiled, before heading into the kitchen and leaving a smiling Anna in my wake.

May 14

4:19 pm

So, apparently the flower show is tomorrow. I'm not quite sure what this all entails, but it sounds horrid, if not for the mere fact that Molesley is beyond excited about it and won't shut up.

Apparently his dad's flowers are a life-changing experience. I don't care what Thomas says, I can't pretend to care about such things. (He's always going on about how I need to be nicer to Molesley. Silly.)

4:59 pm

Of course. As soon as I'd finished my last entry, Diary, I was cornered by Molesley in the kitchen. Naturally, he was blathering on about a rose of some sort (I couldn't be bothered to remember the name). And naturally, he asked me if I was excited about tomorrow.

"I'd rather peel my own skin off," I said brightly.

But before this could register in his simple mind, luck decided to shit on me and Thomas walked by at that exact moment.

"James," came his curt voice. "A moment please."

With a sigh I left a confused Molesley and followed Thomas into Carson's office. He shut the door, locking it.

"That wasn't very nice," he said with a cluck of his tongue.

"It's Molesley. He'll be fine," I said flatly.

He grinned and walked toward me until he had me backed up against Carson's desk. "You must pay for your actions, Kent."

"Pay for my…? Wait. Are you suggesting we…. On Mr. Carson's desk?!" I nearly shouted, feeling my face blotch from the mere _idea_ of it all.

The wickedness in his eyes gleamed. "That's exactly what I'm suggesting," he breathed, and covered my mouth with his.

I suppose I can mark that one off the list, then.

May 15

8:18 am

"The flower show's today. Are you going, Jimmy?" Daisy asked me this morning.

"Don't I have to?"

She shrugged. "I'm going no matter what. It's nice to get out every once in awhile."

"I suppose. Will you walk with me?" I asked her as she set the eggs on my tray.

"Alright," she smiled, wiping her petite hands on her apron. "We can go with Ivy and Benjamin."

"And Mr. Barrow," I said without a thought. Oops.

Her eyebrows knitted. "Why Mr. Barrow? I thought you hated him."

Fuck. I let out a slightly shaky laugh and shrugged my shoulders. "Well, you know, sometimes a good war tactic is to walk with the enemy so they know that they don't intimidate you. It's a power thing," I explained, waving my hand and ignoring the fact that I felt a presence behind me, eavesdropping.

I didn't need to look to know who it was.

"Well," I smiled before Daisy could question further, "I best deliver this. Carson's probably about to lay an egg!"

And I walked away, silently cursing my slip.

12:21 pm

At the flower show.

This is incredibly boring. Why couldn't Thomas and I have just stayed back and had the house to ourselves? How fun would that have been…

Speaking of, where could he be? After we arrived, he just took off and I've been sitting with Daisy and Mrs. Patmore ever since.

I see Carson and Mrs. Hughes, smiling about something. And there's Alfred and Stella. Alfred's watching Ivy and Benjamin across the room (of course) and Stella's got a possessive hand on his arm. Or is she looking at that man by the lilies? Oh. She would. And there's Anna and Bates having a bit of punch with one farmer or another. And Lady Edith isn't too far behind them with some grinning-like-a-loon man. Odd. And there's His Lordship and Her Ladyship and the Dowager. And Mrs. Crawley and…Molesley, I believe?

Yes, Molesley, who is now departing from the conversation and headed this way. Bugger.

But what's wrong with him? His eyes are large and bright, tight at the corners, and his mouth is twitching. There's also a light sheen of sweat glistening on his forehead.

Hm.

Let's see what this is about.

12:35 pm

"Are you all right, Mr. Molesley?" I asked carefully as he licked his lips.

He started a bit at my voice, eyes snapping to me and blinking owlishly. "Oh. Oh, yes. Yes, I'm very well, James. I've just been speaking with Mrs. Crawley."

I nodded, still staring at him with trepidation. Am sometimes convinced that Molesley has the ability to combust.

"Sh-she's looking for a new butler for her household, you see. And she's quite keen on having me return. Of course, she understands that I'm Mr. Crawley's valet…"

"Ah, yes, Alfred had mentioned something about that a ways back. Are you leaving Downton, then?"

He stared at me liked I'd chopped up a baby bunny. "Leave? Heavens, no!"

"Oh. Then…what has you so distressed?"

"I'm not distressed!"

"…Alright."

"I've…just told her that I would return to my old post if she could not find an adequate replacement. But she's bound to, of course. It's a very good job."

"Indeed."

"You could even try for it."

I raised my eyebrows. "Me? Oh, no, I don't think so." (I would rather hear about Alfred's sex life than ever leave Thomas' side.) "But I'm sure she'll find someone."

Molesley gulped—rather loudly—before nodding a little too quickly. "Yes. Yes, I'm sure."

Before things became more awkward—that man was giving _me_ anxiety!—I walked away, searching for a slick head of coal-black hair and a stiff posture.

1:50 pm

So, the slick head of coal-black hair and stiff posture was chatting with a future earl, his wife, and a ruddy Irishman playing dress-up. Was, of course, nowhere near jealous (Thomas and I have never been happier) but even so, felt that it would be almost rude if I didn't listen on in their conversation. Wouldn't want them all to think they're boring, now would I?

"There's mother again, trying to beat poor Molesley into submission," said Mr. Crawley with subtle hints of amusement, drink in hand.

"But why does she want your valet? Surely she can find any number of men to fill the post. Why Molesley?"

Oh, hush, Lady Mary. We're happy to rid of the old bore.

Mr. Crawley shrugged, bringing the drink to his lips. "I'm not quite sure. But you know mother—always wanting what she can't have."

"Well, she can't have your valet. It's ridiculous."

Branson and Thomas exchanged looks, clearly uninvested in the conversation.

"I'm not very sure that I would mind, if I'm being honest," continued Mr. Crawley. "All of these little formalities are becoming increasingly unessary."

"I agree," nodded Branson, sending a sturdy half-smile Mr. Crawley's way. "It's about time things start to change."

Lady Mary shot him a very eloquent look of, 'don't-start-this-shit-again-I'm-just-beginning-to-like-you.' "Well. I think it's nice that you keep others in employment. No matter your staunch views on the subject, dear husband." She sent the subtlest of grins his way which he returned in two-fold, and leaned in to press a protective kiss on her cheek.

"You are, of course, right, my dear. Molesley or no, a valet I shall have."

Indeed?

I glanced over at the little group—standing in their crisp, bright attire with their glinting smiles and perfectly coiffed hair as their laughs tinkled against the crystal in their groomed hands—and felt a strange mixture of envy and opportunity.

After all, me job is me life and if I can get a promotion…well. I wouldn't say no to that.

Was just beginning to form a plan of how to throw Molesley's rump out in the street, when I felt a presence on my back and the tickle of breath on my neck.

"The flowers _outside_ are much more beautiful," suddenly murmured Thomas. What the hell? Does he have the ability to appear out of thin air? I glanced over at his previous post, seeing a laughing Branson, Mr. Crawley, and Lady Mary.

If he decided to ditch them, fine by me.

Biting my lips to hide an impending wider-than-life grin, I cocked my head slightly, viewing him in my peripherals. "Indeed, Mr. Barrow?"

"Indeed, James," he breathed, before strutting toward the door.

Reminded myself we were in public before I could sprint after him, and instead took one last sip of punch before placing my glass down. I smoothed my features, stuffed my hands in my pockets in the most inconspicuous way I could and am now about to follow the trail of promised sex.

10:10 pm

It's over, Diary.

It's all over.

Carson's dismissed everyone to bed and now I am upstairs, locked in my room, and I'm so beyond any form of feeling that I can't even cry.

It's all ruined, Diary. Ruined.

O'Brien discovered us.

11:57 pm

Have been lying in bed, staring at the ceiling. Thinking about Thomas, feeling my heart break, then thinking about Thomas some more, feeling my heart break more, then thinking about O'Brien, and feeling my insides turn inside out.

It's horrible, Diary. And it's because of our own stupidity. We should never have been so open with each other. We should never have dared even _look_ at each other at that blasted flower show, let alone fumble around with kisses and inappropriate hand placements. Just because we were outside in the seclusion of a shadowy corner beneath a beautifully blossomed tree, did not mean that we were invisible to the naked eye.

Or, in this case, the can't-keep-my-frumpy-bitch-nose-out-of-other-people's-business eye.

I hate her. I hate her and now everything's ruined.

I can't even write about it, Diary, because each word is another slice in my recently healed heart. Is too painful for reality.

Yet I feel so empty.

Because now Thomas wants nothing to do with me.

May 16

12:12 am

Cannot bring myself to dress for bed. Cannot even move.

But I suppose those who are dead can't move, can they?

12:14 am

I can't erase Thomas' expression after O'Brien accused us. He was so angry, so panicked…. So guilty.

He looked ashamed of me.

12:15am

He hasn't even tried to speak to me. This is our first night apart in ages. I'm on the verge of mental collapse. And he doesn't even check to see if I'm okay. He obviously doesn't care. He obviously wants to forget that I exist.

How am I supposed to sleep under these conditions? How am I ever supposed to sleep again?

Am not sure if I want to be with Thomas anymore (do not want to go to prison) but still love him. Does he still love me? Did he ever?

12:21 am

Have started crying again.

Everything was so perfect. He was finally opening up. We were closer than we've ever been…

And now?

I can't be with him! Our lives will be destroyed! O'Brien is going to ruin us and the only conceivable way out is to deny everything and run away into the night.

Cannot live under the strain of others knowing. Cannot live in fear and shame.

Oh, Diary. Help me.

12:24 am

I hate him!

He's a monster!

He's ruined my life, my heart, my soul, my mind, and he's left me for the wolves! He has RUINED me, Diary, every part of me, and I don't know what to do. The very thought of living just one day without his constant presence, without his voice, without his touch, without his very soul next to mine… How could I possibly manage?

How did I manage before?

I think I might be broken, Diary. Did not know it was possible for people to break—not on the inside—but I think I might be broken. Feel so wrong. Feel so barren. Is like someone scraped out my insides and left a shell that weeps. That weeps for Thomas. That weeps for a monster.

Who, piece by piece, took me apart and left an empty machine.

He did this.

I hate him.

2:47 am

Have been sobbing for the last half hour. (Yes, Diary. Sobbing. More.)

After I'd written my last entry, there was a knock at the door.

"Thomas!" I warbled out, caught between a gasp and a scream, as soon as I opened the door. Instinctually, my limbs tugged to embrace him, but could not. How could I hug him when it was all over? How could I be so near that which has destroyed everything?

He stared at me, face made of granite. There was no indication that he had been crying.

Of fucking course. Not a tear shed on his part while I'm draining my body of all juices.

"I didn't think you wanted to see me," I finally mumbled through dry sniffles after an awkward pause. I kept my eyes downward, unsure if I wanted to see what was in his face.

"I didn't at first," he admitted, voice uncommonly natural. "But then I realized the situation isn't as bad as we may think."

I looked up at this, seeing his calm demeanor and a hint of a smile on his perfect lips. (Fuck those lips. Even in times of woe they entice me.) "What do you mean?"

The hint of a smile grew infinitesimally, and then he quirked his head. "May I come in?"

Feeling a tornado of mixed emotions, I simply nodded before stepping back.

What was happening? Should I puke? Is this bad? Is there hope? Is he evil? Does he still love me? Do I still love him?

Without any hesitance, he strode in the room then promptly turned on his heel, facing me, hands clasped and posture proud.

"O'Brien hasn't said a word since we've been back. She's had plenty of time, and she's been in Carson and Mrs. Hughes' company various times already."

My mind, still reeling from our potential lost love, was unable to grasp these unnervingly articulate assertions. (I was still trying to hold back the tears, for the love of god!)

"Meaning?" I managed, needing to sit down.

"Meaning she caught us, yes." At this, his eyes darkened a shade before once again returning to placidity. "But she intended to catch us. And not so that she could rat us out."

I swallowed. Was this supposed to make sense? Was this the part where I was supposed to go,

Ohh, yes. Yes, that explains it. She wants to know, but doesn't want to do anything about. Ah, yes, of course.'

Resisting a glare, I remained silent.

"Jimmy, I've been trying to figure it out for hours. And I think I've got it." A pause. A tremor of hope in my heart. "She's never going to say anything. She just wants leverage because she doesn't want _me_ to say anything."

I stared at him.

How was that any less confusing?

"What? Why would you say anything? I thought you said she was clever?"

"She is. You see, James, I know something about O'Brien that she doesn't want anyone else to know. She thinks Bates knows, but he doesn't, and even if he did, she knows he wouldn't use it against her. Me however? Well. She knows how I work." (How he works?) "And it's because of her distrust of me that she went poking. And, sure enough, she found something. And now she's protected. Just. Like. That."

"Just like what? What is happening? What are you saying? What do you know?"

He merely smiled before walking up to my seated figure, and combed a hand through my hair. The sweet normalcy of it all made my chest uncoil, hours of tension, fear, and anxiety billowing out with the smallest touch of his fingertips to my scalp. Almost. My eyes closed.

"It's best if you didn't know. I don't need her chasing after you, too."

"I'm sure she already suspects that I do know. Besides, doesn't she have a leg up on me as well now?" I muttered, opening my eyes.

He stared down at me, expression clouded. Seemingly at a loss for words, his eyes skidded away, lost in though and potential-excuses.

"Don't you trust me?" I countered, noting his sheer amount of hesitation. Do not understand why he wouldn't just tell me. Am a very trustworthy person. Secrets are my middle name.

"Of course I trust you," he sighed, looking back to me. "But it's not important."

Oh hell no. "It's clearly important," I said, irritation now rising within me.

"I will tell you. Just not now."

My eyes narrowed.

"Don't look at me like that. We both know you'll weasel it out of me. Just not tonight, alright? We need to start making plans." He pulled up a chair.

Plans? "What? What sort of plans?"

"Plans to keep her mouth shut around the others. She may not tell Her Ladyship, Carson, or Hughes, but she would very easily tell any of the staff, were we to get on her bad side. We must not allow this."

"Er. We musn't?"

He looked at me as though I were insane. "Obviously not. She musn't have any power." His eyes flashed. "Now. I suggest we attack first. Confront her with the knowledge. We've sussed out her plan easily enough, now we need to make it known to her."

"But, uh, how does that stop her?"

"Because we threaten to spill her secret at the merest whisper of anything spoken about us. We mustn't display any fear—she will smell it."

Smell it?

What the hell?

I know I've heard of Thomas' past being a bit…cut-throat, but I've never seen him this way before. It was as if he was head of a thirsty militia, plotting to take back the Holy Grail from a godless people. Do or die.

I couldn't decide if this was an attractive feature, or just downright disconcerting.

"Well, maybe we don't have to threaten her. What if we just try to reason with her?" I offered as Thomas stood up and began to pace.

He immediately stopped. "Reason? With O'Brien?!"

"Well, she can't be all bad!"

"Oh, yes she can."

I sighed. I don't think I'm very good at plotting.

"Thomas," I said quietly as he paced, eyes alight.

Upon hearing his name, his head shot up, peaked and alert. "You want to go outside for a smoke? I could use one."

I suppressed irritation and repeated, "Thomas."

"Hm?"

"Are we…good?" I swallowed uncomfortably.

At this, he actually stopped pacing (my floors sighed a relief) and walked over to me. The manic blaze of his eyes had begun to dim into something much more familiar. With an earnest smile, he grasped my shoulders, looking me in the eye.

"Of course we are. Aren't we?"

I swallowed again, feeling both relieved and unnerved by his response. "But-but you aren't upset? Or scared? You've hardly spoken three words to me since the flower show."

The light in his eyes became genuinely confused. "I'm sorry. I was trying to think of a solution. I mean, I was scared, yes, more for you than me. But we're going to be okay." At my silence, he added, "I'm sorry I didn't come to you sooner. I should have."

I nodded, but the lump in my chest wasn't going away. "But what if it wasn't solved this easy? What if someone else had discovered us, and we couldn't wrap it up all tidy like?" Each word wavered with a fear that I had been trying to repress.

His eyebrows knitted. "But we can. So why think about it?"

"Because what if?"

"'What if' means nothing, Jimmy. We need to focus on 'now.'"

My eyes began to prickle. Fuck. "But Thomas, how can we just go back?"

He stared at me.

I had to close my eyes. "How can we just return to what we were before? We've been discovered."

"We're handling it," his strangled voice said.

"But what if we can't next time? What will happen to us?"

"If the time should come—"

"BUT I DON'T WANT IT TO COME," I said forcefully, the wavering in my voice now replaced with adamancy.

The room filled with his silence and my silent screams.

What was I doing? I love Thomas. I love him.

But do I love him enough to risk this every day? Do I love him enough to ruin everything? Do I love him enough to go through what I had just gone through again?

"I just need some sleep," I finally offered, voice returning to brittle again.

I opened my eyes. He was nodding.

"Yes," he said, standing up. Without another word or look, he walked to the door. And hesitated. "So..." His head was bent. "Should I bother with O'Brien?" He raised his head, back still facing me. "Should I find a solution?"

That's when the tears came.

My heart almost gave out as my voice box concluded the scene with an, "I don't know."

And then the door shut.

I've been crying ever since.

6:09 am

So this is what it feels like to wake up with an uncertain future with the love of your life.

Alright, well, another thing ticked off the list.

6:11 am

I don't even know why I bother with any of it. With the job, the clothes, the hair.

None of it matters.

6:31 am

I wonder if anybody will treat me differently? I wonder if O'Brien's said anything?

I wonder if the world is over?

9:19 am

"Good morning," I said tentatively as soon as I entered the kitchen.

Daisy looked up then looked away, marching over to the stovetop.

Oh no.

They knew.

I heard a snicker. I looked over—Ivy.

Oh god.

She was laughing at me.

I could only stare at her.

"You're in trouble," she giggled behind her hand.

My heart pattered then died again to the sound of the WORLD CRASHING DOWN AROUND ME. Dear god, my luck is like a moose's armpit.

The world is over.

"Oh, she'll get over it."

'She?!' Excuse me?!

"Or she better if she's going to stay in my kitchen. Focus, girl!" Mrs. Patmore scolded, shooting one of those alarming glares at Daisy.

Wait, Daisy?

I looked imploringly to Mrs. Patmore.

She shook her head at me. "You best take your little bottom over there and apologize to her. I'm not dealing with one of her moods today." She went back to kneading dough.

Apologize?

What the bloody fuck?

"Er," I managed, looking over to Ivy for help.

"Go on, then," Ivy urged, nodding toward Daisy.

Where's Alfred? Maybe he would know!

(Ohmygod I just said 'Where's Alfred.')

"Er," I repeated, looking for anybody.

"Oh, he doesn't have to apologize. It's no matter to me if he just ditched me at the flower show. He wasn't much company anyway. All he did was talk to Mr. Molelsey and listen to conversations the whole time. He didn't say one word to me!" Daisy shrilled, pouring the contents of a pot into an awaiting bowl.

What in the world? Did I step through the looking glass?

"Wait a minute," I said, taking in each other their faces. "Is that what all this is about? You're all making a fuss because…I left Daisy at the flower show? And…that's it?"

"What do you mean, 'that's it?'" bit Daisy, but Ivy cocked her head.

"What else would there be, Jimmy?"

A silence settled as they all looked to me. My eyes darted from face to face.

Well, then.

"Nothing at all. I just didn't realize that Daisy would mind so much," I supplied, trying to catch her eye.

"Look, you asked me to go, so I went, and then you just flitted off—and where did you go, anyway?"

Hm. Good question, little one.

"I…I came back here." I looked as apologetic as I could. "Sorry."

She sighed and shook her head, but through the steam I could see her anger was minimal. "Well, don't do it again. It's rude, it is."

Mrs. Patmore nodded approvingly. "You've better manners than that, Jimmy."

"Indeed I do. Which is why I assure you it will never happen again."

"What will never happen again?" came Alfred's voice as he walked in, accompanied by his tart. (She's always about with him these days. Suspect it's because of his newfound, re-found obsession with Ivy.)

"Never you mind. Either of you," I said brusquely, shooting Stella a look as she opened her mouth.

"My, my. You've always got such a bee in your bonnet," she remarked, amused. "You need a girl."

"He's got one. We just don't know who," Daisy said, feeling the need to be spitefully gossipy. The wretch.

"Does he?" Stella asked, intrigued and a little delighted. "Anyone I know?"

My face boiled. "Come on, Alfred. Carson'll be in a state if we're not upstairs."

"Ohhhh, he's turning all red! So that's a yes, then?" I heard Stella calling as I left the room in a hurry, and I could almost swear I heard the others giggling with her.

She better not be pulling them into the dark side.

10:17 am

Every time I see Thomas, inexplicable physical pain overwhelms me. Especially when he won't meet my glance.

Every time I see O'Brien, inexplicable emotional rage overwhelms me. Especially when she meets my glance.

Her smug smile tells me she honestly thinks she's got power over us. Which means Thomas hasn't spoken to her. Which means Thomas isn't trying. Because of me.

Urgh, this mess.

11:50 am

I try to be a patient, mature, young man. I try to keep my temper at bay. I think, on average, I do a marvelous job considering the facts.

So it's really only fair that I slip once in awhile.

"Get that look off your face. You're not as powerful as you think you are," I hissed at the old hag as soon as I could catch her alone in the servants' hall.

One corner of her mouth twitched upward. Sweet Jesus, her attempt at smiling was just as bad as Alfred's. I now see the family resemblance.

"Powerful, you say? You flatter me," she said cordially, before stepping around me.

"I'm serious," I said, grabbing her arm. "You aren't going to win this, you snake."

Another ghastly attempt at a smile. "I'm sorry James, I didn't realize we were playing a game. Now. I've got a job to do." And I let her go, her feigned innocence making me want to puke.

"What were that about?"

Startled, I turned around.

Daisy. Holding a tray of dishware.

"Ah, nothing. What are you doing in here?"

"Setting up lunch."

"Of course. Resume your duties, then."

She narrowed her eyes. "You're not to tell me what to do. Now get on. Carson's looking for you."

Today is an ugly day.

6:12 pm

God, I miss Thomas. I can barely even do my bloody job. I kept zoning out when I was serving dinner, and I even elbowed Branson in the back of the head. (I swear it was on purpose!) (ACCIDENT. I mean accident! I swear it was on accident!)

I even skipped over the Dowager when I was serving—which did not go over well, I assure you. She sent me a very clipping, "Oh, do I blend in with the tapestries now?" and I would bet my life that Carson was tempted to throw his body over the table and attack me, knives in tow—and I almost forgot to bring up the main tray. Not to mention that I almost dropped one of the serving forks into His Lordship's glass of water. (Refuse to state how this act was prevented.)

Thought that my life was crumbling because of Thomas.

No. Silly me.

Life is crumbling without Thomas. And it's only been less than a day.

8:33 pm

O'Brien be damned.

"Good thing I was there to catch that fork you dropped in the dining room. Else you would've made an even bigger mess of the meal," Alfred boasted, smiling at Stella and glancing at Ivy when the former wasn't looking.

"And no wonder with those great, big clomping hands of yours. Yes, you really do deserve a round of applause for doing something right for once, Alfred," I said irritably as we settled down for our own meal.

"I would watch that tongue of yours, if I were you," suddenly came the bitchiest voice known to man.

"Thank you for your input, Miss O'Brien," I smiled through clenched teeth.

Anna looked between us. "What's going on with you two?"

I felt Thomas' eyes on me from the other end of the table. I fought every cell in my body to not return the gaze.

"I'd be happy to tell you," O'Brien supplied, face void of human emotion.

"Which is yet another good reason to leave it rest," I countered, and gave Anna a please-don't-listen-to-the-manipulative-bitch look.

O'Brien smirked, and dinner progressed.

That's it. I'm not living this way. I'm not going to be a victim to her.

And I'm not staying away from Thomas.

Uncertain future or not, I don't trust what she could do to him, and I don't want to find out.

And more importantly…I just miss him. So much.

May 17

1:11 am

Met Thomas outside for his smoke.

"Did you need something?" he asked without looking at me as soon as the door shut.

"A very forgiving boyfriend," I offered, slowly walking toward him.

Please let this work, please let this work.

He turned his head toward me, releasing a fountain of smoke that glowed in the dark. "And why would you need that?"

"To survive," I said, not bothering to paint it any other way. Was the truth, Diary, so I spoke the truth. Plain and simple. (Two words I do not often associate with myself. Am not Daisy.)

"I see." He returned to staring at the sky. "I'm not sure that that's what you want, though."

I took a place next to him against the wall so that our shoulders brushed.

"Well, I am," I sighed, looking upward myself, vaguely aware of Thomas and I's stars which both happened to be out and right above us. "Maybe I wasn't sure before. But I am now. I don't need very long to figure out what I want, Mr. Barrow. And I want you."

There was a pause, broken by the sucking of a cigarette.

"And this includes the uncertainty of our future, correct?"

"Correct, officer."

He chortled. "Well then, I suppose, just this once, you can get what you want."

Felt my grin burst into place and my whole mind and body sighed in relief.

This. This was home.

"Thank god," I burst, immediately wrapping my arms around him in the tightest embrace I could manage. "I missed you," I mumbled into his jacket.

I felt his arms pat me awkwardly. "I've seen you all day."

"Not properly. You wouldn't look at me."

"For good reason, you git."

"I know." I breathed in his scent. "But I'll never let you go again."

"Splendid," came the sarcasm, and I looked up at him with a mock glare.

"Shut up, grump. Now. Let's take this upstairs."

He smiled a smoky smile as he flicked his cigarette away. "No. Let's walk instead. I want to discuss O'Brien."

"O'Brien?"

He nodded. "I saw how she's been acting toward you. I don't fancy it much, to be honest. So, I'm asking you if you want me to get rid of her. Because I could, you know. She could rat us out afterwards, but her word won't have much credit, and even if it does, she has no proof."

I stared at him.

Oh.

"Well…I mean, it is a good idea, I suppose," I began, feeling a strange press in my stomach.

"But?"

"I'm not sure if we should kick her out in the streets. What will she do for a living?"

Two incredulous blue eyes stared at me. "Are you serious? You were willing to throw Stella out without a moment's hesitation just because she's a bit snotty—keeping in mind she's still young yet—and now, for a woman who will dismember your life and everybody else's while drinking your child's blood, you want to show mercy?"

Well, shit. When he puts it like that…

"I just don't know, alright? She's old! She'll have trouble finding work! And weren't you friends with her?"

"Best friends."

"Well, that seems a little ruthless, doesn't it? Destroying your ex-best mate's life?"

"She did it to me."

"And you're not her!"

Was strange, Diary. Have never really felt guilt before—not for someone so insignificant to my life.

Why is this happening? Am I alright?

Thomas stared into the distance, void of expression, then sighed. "So you want to stick to the original plan?"

I shrugged. "Yeah, I suppose. It's better, I think."

He smirked, shaking his head. "Who would've thought. You being mature about something for once in your life, and me not seeking revenge the only time it's really warranted. And acceptable."

I smiled and slipped my hand in his. "I'm proud of you," I offered, feeling pleased with myself. Am becoming such a noble and wonderful person.

"Somebody better be," he mumbled, and then we walked off into the night.

All is well again, Diary. All is well.

Well, half-well. We still need to deal with O'BitchBrien.

May 19

11:43 pm

Have been on good behavior these past two days. Thomas has forbidden me to speak with O'Brien because he doesn't trust my tempter (rude) but I've agreed because he seems to be better at this sort of thing than I am.

…

Having said that, I cornered the old witch twice today. The first time was the in the kitchen, in plain sight of everybody, but I don't care much because nobody was paying attention and we were speaking in hushed tones. The second time was in the servants' hall corridor, but once again we were interrupted by Daisy who was setting up luncheon.

Neither time proved fruitful with the banshee, though. I glared, threatened to bite, and played it cool, but she will not sway in her bitchy behavior. I even told her Thomas is going to lay out the facts for her and that I was as much afraid of her as I was an old scarecrow—which, by the way, bears an uncanny resemblance to her, I made sure to mention—but she seemed utterly unaffected and almost amused with each of my tactics.

I think she very well may be set on harassing me for the remainder of my existence.

Oh shit. Must stop writing now. Thomas has come back from the bathroom and do not want him to see what I've been saying!

May 20

8:08 am

Must stop interacting with O'Brien.

"Why've you been speaking with her so much?" Daisy asked me as I was putting on my gloves and shooting the aforementioned woman a glare.

"No reason. I think Mrs. Patmore's calling you."

And I skulked away, leaving her confusion in my wake.

May 22

10:05 am

Today's once of those days where I want to be buried at the bottom of the ocean. Or perhaps just go to a doctor and find out, once and for all, just what mental disorder I possess.

My first mistake was coming into the kitchen whistling. (Note to self: never appear chipper in front of others ever again. Except Thomas.)

"In an extra good mood today, Jimmy?" Daisy asked as Ivy and Mrs. Patmore brought the servants' breakfast into the servants' hall.

"Why do you say that?"

"You're whistling like a sparrow," she teased.

"Oh, I didn't realize. Must be the promise of summer," I smiled.

"May is a lovely month. As is June—a time for brides."

I stiffened. Where was this heading?

"Any brides in your future?" she asked (just as I suspected) with a little grin as she plucked scones off of a baking sheet.

"Why are you all so concerned with my private affairs? What does it matter if I've found love?" Shit. Probably shouldn't have said that.

Her eyes brightened. "So you have!"

"Daisy."

"We just want what's best for you! Besides, I hear enough about Ivy and Benjamin and Aflred and Stella—it'd be nice to hear a new name for a change."

"Well, you're not going to hear one."

"Why not?"

I felt my face flush. "Because. Now drop it."

"Don't you trust me? I won't say." Her face was imploring and endearingly innocent. Shit.

"I do. But I just don't see why it matters." Good answer, Jimmy!

"I'm just curious. Who is she?"

"Er." Not a she, for starters.

"Have you been with her all this time? Is she the same one you were with before?"

"Before?"

"Who is she?"

"I can't." My pulse quickened. I can't say. It's too dangerous. I can't. I can't, Jimmy!

"Jimmy, come on," she begged, clearly enjoying my flustered reactions.

"No."

"If it's this big of a deal, it must be secret on purpose," she said slowly, watching my face closely.

Fuck. Mayday. Mayday.

"N-no, why would you think that?"

Her eyes widened. "Oh my lord, is it an affair?"

"Daisy, stop."

She gasped. "Lady Edith?"

"Oh, please," I couldn't help but scoff.

"Then who? I'll not stop now. I may even be able to help you if you tell me. It is a girl, right?" she laughed, but it hit too close to home.

Ridden with panic and a desire to shut her up, I pelted out an, "It's O'Brien."

And her laughter stopped.

Dear Lord above. Please send a bolt of lightning to strike me down at your nearest convenience. If Death has any cancellations, I'd be happy to fill the post. Sincerely, A Boy With No Filter or Desire To Live.

"You're O'Brien's fancyman?" Daisy said, deadpan and almost scared.

Ah. No going back now.

"Yeah," I said in a voice that wasn't my own as I looked anywhere but at her.

"You and O'Brien."

Oh god.

"Yes."

"For how long?"

I think I'm going to be sick.

"I need to go," I suddenly said and practically ran out of the room.

Must fix this. Must fix this.

7:11 pm

Well. It's almost the end of the day. And I haven't fixed it yet.

However.

I have done a stunning job of avoiding O'Brien and Daisy both.

(I have no idea how to fix this.)

May 23

12:31 am

I think I'm becoming desensitized.

When I finally entered my room at the end of the day after trying, and failing, to find Thomas, I was delighted to see him waiting for me.

Arms folded, leaning against my desk, with a slightly disheartening scowl on his face.

Oh well. Yay! Thomas!

"Thoma—" I began happily.

"Why did you tell Daisy that you were having an affair with O'Brien?"

Blast.

"How did you find out?" I asked, deflated.

"It's the talk of downstairs. Daisy's been telling everybody," he said through clenched teeth.

Dear god. Keep a secret, my ass! I'm never telling her anything! (And thank God I didn't…)

"Look, Thomas, I—"

"O'Brien is livid. Absolutely livid. I've been trying to convince her that you have a medical condition that forces you to say incredulous and grandiose things that you have no control over filtering. Do you know how hard it is to lie to that woman? Have you ANY idea what she is like when she is in a bad temper? I've never dared look, but I am almost certain that woman keeps a full set of weaponry in her room. Including a machete. And rope. Who knows—maybe even a grenade. And let's not forget that BRAIN she has, which is far more dangerous than any weapon man nor beast possesses!"

I stared at his wild eyes as he began to pace the room. (He needs to stop with that.) Was Thomas…afraid?

"You're scared of O'Brien," I accused, folding my arms across my chest.

"No I'm not," was the automatic response as he halted to a standstill.

"Yes you are. I've never seen you like this before!"

"I don't have the ability to fear."

"You're afraid of a woman!"

"That's not a woman! That's debatably a lost creature from Hades!"

"Now, Thomas, I think you may be overreact—"

"Have you ever heard of Medusa? Well, that's her downstairs!"

I blinked. "Thomas, you're starting to sound like me!"

A horrified look overcame his features.

"Don't act so pleased," I glared flatly, before he started pacing again.

"I'm going to talk to her. As soon as Carson let's up a bit. But you need to promise me to not say one more word to—or about—her anymore. Do you hear me?"

"I hear a bitch," I sniffed, and looked away.

"I'm serious, Jimmy. You don't know what you're dealing with."

"Oh, fine, you big baby! But you better sort this out soon because she is making my life hell!"

He sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose. "I know. I'm sorry. But don't worry. I've got this. Now come here."

Couldn't help but smile. "Does someone need a hug?" I teased in a baby voice as I wrapped my arms around him.

"Oh, shut up." He pressed his face in my neck. "But yes. I do."

Smiled even wider and refused to let go.

Love Thomas.

Hate O'Brien.

May 25

10:01 pm

Thomas still hasn't fixed things with O'Brien. Just want to document this.

May 26

11:40 pm

Still hasn't talked to her. I think he's afraid.

May 27

1:11 am

Says he's not afraid, just a detailed plotter.

That's it. I'm talking to her myself.

12:44 pm

Still haven't talked to her, but I will!

(I have, however, tripped Alfred. Day is a success.)

9:09 pm

I caught the bitch alone, finally. After everybody had cleared out of the servants' hall.

"I need to talk to you," I said, voice holding no humor.

She looked up at me from her tea, very unimpressed. "I can't imagine about what."

"Don't play innocent. I have a proposition for you." I sat down across from her.

Her eyebrows raised. "Do you, now?"

"Listen, O'Brien. We may dislike each other. But we can't ignore what's in front of our faces. We don't need to fight or threaten. We have a solution here." I paused, and she continued to stare in that soulless way that she does. "With my good looks, Thomas' bravery—and the fact that everybody likes him—and your brain, we could be unstoppable."

She sipped her tea. "You're just saving your own skin."

"Obviously, yes."

"I don't need anybody on my side."

"No, see, you really do, Miss O'Brien. You really do. You'll not only have one—but TWO people to watch your back. At all times. And help you…get a leg up in Carson's eyes. It's no secret you're not winning any popularity contests."

"And what do you know of it?" she snapped in her cold, biting tone.

"Enough to know that a pair of allies would be the best thing that happened to you since you were released from the underworld."

She did not seem amused or remotely interested. I was 99% sure she wasn't even considering it, just plotting my imminent death instead.

"Right. Well. I tried. Good luck with your job."

A very sour expression was my reply, so I stood up.

But something held me back. One last try.

"You were friends with Thomas once, weren't you?" I asked, turning around.

"Define friends," she countered, lips pursed.

"I can't imagine that you completely hate him now. So maybe…maybe you should dig up whatever bit of humanity lies dormant within you, and just stop. Stop trying to ruin everybody's lives because you have bad hair."

She remained silent so I looked back and found her staring at me in that terrifying prey-meets-killer way. She was a bit touchy, wasn't she?

"Goodnight, Miss O'Brien."

And I walked up the stairs.

Now we wait. (Thomas is going to _kill_ me.)

May 28

10:42 pm

Thomas still hasn't said anything about O'Brien…

I may just get away with this yet…

May 29

11:11 am

I hate Thomas Barrow.

"Thomas spoke to me. He told me why you wanted me to think you've been with O'Brien," Daisy whispered when we were alone.

Oh lord. "Did he?" I asked suspiciously.

She nodded. "It's alright, Jimmy. I now know that you were ashamed about being in love with yourself."

"I beg your pardon?" I coughed. What on EARTH did that man say to her?!

"He told me about your condition. How you're obsessed with yourself and can never find real love because nobody will ever compare to you. And how happy you make yourself."

I'm going to kill him.

"That's so kind of him," I said through gritted teeth.

"I thought so. But don't worry—your secret is safe with me!" she smiled.

Just fucking great.

May 30

2:04 am

I gave Thomas the ol' 1,2!

"You told Daisy I have a condition where I can't find love because I'm too obsessed with myself?!"

He looked up in thought. "I did, didn't I?"

"Why on EARTH did you do that?!" I shrieked as we walked.

"What else was I supposed to say? That you were actually having an affair with _me_?"

I flushed. "No, of course not. But surely you could have come up with something better."

He shrugged. "No harm done. She didn't seem surprised."

"You are an awful person," I said hotly and stalked ahead.

"Speaking of awful people," he said, catching up to me. "What did O'Brien have to say?"

I blinked. (Fuck.)

"You know. When you talked to her a couple days ago?" He gave me the stare down.

Dammit.

"Er… Well, I—"

"She was amused by what you said. I might even say she found it charming, though such things are lost upon her."

"Charming?" Felt my chest swell the tiniest increment.

"She was never about to be swayed by a young and troublesome footman," he said bemusedly. I sighed. "But your words did not fall upon deaf ears."

I perked. "Oh?"

"She's not about to skip around the pumpkin patch with you, but she's agreed to let it rest. She won't trouble you any longer."

Refused to cry with joy, so settled for a, "Damn right. And what about our secret?"

"Oh, that was sorted a long time ago," he said easily, waving a hand.

I stopped. "What?"

"Hm? Oh, yes. About a week ago. We've made a deal. All is well." He continued walking.

"So…. That's it? O'Brien knows, she's keeping it quiet, she's not going to attack me publicly. It's all just that simple?" I asked incredulously. (Was I dreaming?) (Did somebody slip me something?) (Alfred?)

He sent me a sideways smile. "It's always that simple with me."

"I feel like that's a lie."

He laughed. "Listen Jimmy, we have nothing to worry about at the moment. So just be happy, will you?"

I stared at him somewhat doubtfully, trying to dissect the information.

"So… Are we a team, then? You, me, and O'Brien?" I finally asked, raising an eyebrow and giving my most charming smile.

Thomas laughed, clearly entertained. "I wouldn't put it that way, no. And I certainly wouldn't speak of such things around O'Brien."

"But she's your friend again?"

He paused, his face taking on a more serious tone. "It's not quite as simple as that. But…I believe we are on the road to recovery, shall we say. We've agreed that it's better to work in pairs."

"You mean trios."

"Sure." He smirked, but it was endearing, and he brushed his hand against my forearm in a blink-and-you-miss-it manner.

"Well," I said, taking his hand in mine, "Perhaps if she sees that we truly are beneficial, she'll come round more. She'll be…more keen to be on our side. You know, if she's loyal to us, we can do whatever we want around this house."

"You're wrong, but go on."

"See, we need to improve her quality of life."

He narrowed his eyes in intrigue, staring me up and down suspiciously. "And how do you propose?" he asked, voice silken and ready to bite.

"She would greatly improve from a bettered opinion from the staff, would she not?"

"She would."

"Thus, the staff must alter their view on her, correct?"

"Correct."

"Well if we just made her hair—"

"Oh lord, Jimmy," he sighed, with a roll of the eyes, already beginning to walk in the opposite direction.

"You're trying to tell me people wouldn't like her more if they didn't suspect that there was a rat perched atop her head?"

"You need to stop fixating on her hair."

"I'm trying to help!"

"Her or you?"

"What? What are you insinuating? Her, of course! I just want her to feel comfortable and accepted and—"

"And a coiffure is going to help that?"

"It won't NOT help," I explained reasonably.

Thomas was torn between smacking me and just walking away. "Time for bed, James."

He is such a grouch.

May 31

9:57 am

I think I'm going to like this new alliance.

Saw O'Brien as we passed on the stairs.

"Good morning, Miss O'Brien."

"Good morning, James."

Felt a knock on my back as a hallboy tried to shove past me.

"Would you hurry up?" I-think-that's-Benjamin (I forget what he looks like) said in a very unforgiving tone.

"That's enough cheek out of you. He is your superior and you will do well to remember that," bit O'Brien immediately.

Potential-Benjamin paled, then nodded and waited for me to move.

I shot a grin at O'Brien, who returned with a slight nod, then kept on my way.

This is going to the beginning of a new era. The era of POWER.

11:53 pm

Diary. Ohmygod. Diary. Ohmygoshohmylordohmygod. Diary.

Tonight. Tonight.

May 31, 1921 will forever be the most important date of my life. Omigod.

I can die now.

I am the happiest I have ever been; happy in a way I thought only existed in fairytales! I now understand why Anna exists the way she does. (And bless her perfect soul, she was right! About it all!)

I went to Thomas' room tonight after his smoke and we had a nice cozy time of chatting and lying about between kisses and gropes.

Was thinking about O'Brien, our new arrangement, and how close Thomas and I had been to crumbling. Because of me.

Instantly felt a stab of guilt at the all-too-fresh memory.

"Thomas. I'm sorry I acted the way I did after the flower show," I said suddenly, cutting into the peaceful silence.

He looked up from his book. "Hm? Why do you say?"

I shrugged as I took his hand in mine and began playing with his fingers. "I don't know. I suppose… I suppose I just feel guilty sometimes."

"You needn't. It wasn't entirely unexpected."

I looked up at him and he was peering at me with a peaceful expression.

"What does that mean?"

"It means I know that you're afraid. And it's alright, I am too."

"You are?" I asked, feeling a pinprick of hope. (So very much want Thomas to confess all his thoughts, feelings, and emotions to me. Every one of them. Do not want him locked away from me.)

"Of course. For all the reasons you know."

"Such as?" I pressed.

He shook his head, a light smile quirking his lips. "You know. Guilt for jeopardizing everybody's efforts in keeping me here. Guilt for dragging you down with me. Fear of losing everything I've built all over again. … Hesitation."

I waited for the follow up, but there was none.

"Hesitation about what?" I asked, watching his downcast eyes.

"About us," he finally said, looking up at me. I felt a tiny knot form in my innards. "I know I can trust you, James. But it's difficult for me to…jump headfirst…after… After what happened in the past," he said quietly, and averted his gaze.

_What?_

He _still_ thinks about that?

"Thomas, it's not like that anymore! You know that! Don't think of the past—the past means nothing! I would do anything for you, and I'm not afraid like I was before—not anymore! I'd go to jail for you, Thomas, I would, and sod the world because I'll face it all if it means I can be with you. I don't care about anybody else. And I would never willingly hurt you. Not ever," I said with a sincerity that would have made me squirm were I not lost in my desire to ease his doubt.

His eyes remained downward.

Please look at me.

Please.

There was silence then a sigh. Could feel his weight shift on the bed. Finally, he looked up at me, eyes clear and enveloping as he gripped tighter onto my hand. Smiled just a tiny bit.

"You say that now, James... But remember how upset you were when O'Brien discovered us?"His words were gentle as they cut into my heart. "I'm cautious about us, yes. But it shouldn't matter," he finally mumbled.

My heart hurt. "But it does."

He placed a hand on my cheek, aligning our faces as he looked me in the eyes. "It shouldn't. No matter what you see on the outside, it doesn't change…" He faltered.

I swallowed thickly. "Doesn't change what?"

"Doesn't change how much I love you."

.

.

.

Hold it.

 _What_ did he just say?

Omigod.

Did…did he just say he loves me? Did Thomas Barrow just say he _loves_ me? Did he finally say it?!

Was about to implode when suddenly realized what this meant.

Of all the times I've envisioned this moment, it had gone NOTHING like this. Where was the moon? The field of lilies? The stars, the sweet nothings, the combing of fingers through my hair, the poetry, the wine being poured on my body? Where was it?

Instead, we were in our unmentionables, hair messy, feet frozen, over-analyzing our relationship, and struggling to fit on a shitty mattress together in a room with barely enough light to count his eyelashes! (He has 85, by the way. His right eye has 91.) THIS was how he chose to confess his love to me?

Immediately snatched back my hand and crossed my arms. Turned my face away.

"Jimmy?"

"I can't believe you just said that."

Silence.

"I don't understand. I thought you—"

"I DO love you, you great OAF. But of all the ways to exchange our first 'I love you's, this was the most horrible way possible! You didn't even think to plan it out? To make it special? YOU COULD HAVE AT LEAST PUT PANTS ON."

"Fine, I take it back."

Panicked. "What? No! You can't take it back!"

"I take it back. I don't love you anymore."

"Yes you do!"

He shrugged. "Not really."

"What?!" I shrieked.

A slow smile spread across his face before he uncrossed my arms and pulled me to him. "You're exhausting."

"You're unromantic," I pouted, but breathed in his scent all the same. Think that maybe that all the most beautiful moments in the world are captured within his scent. He smells like perfect. Perfect happiness. Really sexy perfect happiness.

I love Thomas Barrow.

And Thomas Barrow loves me.

I knew that May was perfection, Diary. I just knew it!


	10. June

The Diary of Jimmy Kent

June

Jun 1

7:51 am

Since Thomas said that he loved me last night, I've been trying to incorporate it in every conversation we've been having.

For instance, this morning:

Thomas: "Good morning, James."

Me: "Good morning, Thomas."

Thomas: "It's lovely out. If weather keeps up, perhaps a stroll tonight?"

Me: "Oh, yes, absolutely! It is _such_ lovely weather though, isn't it?"

Thomas: *nods*

Me: "Perfect weather, even. Wouldn't you agree?"

Thomas: *slightly suspicious*

Me: "You might even say that…you _love_ it?"

Thomas: *shrugs* "I suppose."

Me: " _Love_ it. As in, love it like you love me? Which is a lot, from what I recall last night. Since you said you loved me. Last night."

Thomas: "James. Shut up."

He says 'shut up,' but he means, 'I love you and you complete me.'

10:10 am

"Thomas."

"Mm, yes?"

"What's your favorite bird?"

"I don't know. I suppose a blackbird. Why do you ask?"

"Mine's a dove."

"…And?"

"Dove rhymes with 'love.'"

"Oh, for fuck's sake. Would you just shove off?"

"Shove? …As in, _love_?"

"…"

Love Thomas. Even if last night is the only time I'll have ever heard him voice his reciprocation.

3:11pm

Saw that Thomas was outside, alone, having a smoke. Feeling clever and _perhaps_ motivated by my desire to hear him tell me that he loves me again, I stuck my head out of the door, just beyond his peripherals, and watched him for a bit.

Love how the smoke spews from his ruby lips. Is sinfully precious. And somehow terribly romantic.

"Psst! Thomas!" I whispered, still wedged between 'door' and 'outside.'

No reaction.

"Thomas!" I whispered more urgently, and this got me the reaction I'd hoped. His slick head whipped around, eyes confused, annoyed, and startled. Classic Thomas.

"What?" he asked in a hard tone, not even attempting a whimsical whisper like the one I'd adopted. (Is lucky for him that I'm so poetic and sweet. Otherwise would make for a very dull relationship.)

"I love you," I responded immediately, grinning like a fool.

He rolled his eyes while turning his head, off and away from me, cigarette balancing between long white fingers. There was a pause—one in which I briefly considered jabbing the cigarette in his eye—when suddenly the soft silk of his voice replied with:

"I love you, too."

It was mumbled into smoke, the words pushed together and dulled at the edges, and yes, maybe a bird happened to defecate at that precise moment, but he said it, Diary. Thomas said, in the light of day, that he loves me, and that's all that matters.

With one last manic grin, I ducked my head back inside, and continued on with my day.

Am the luckiest man in the world and nobody can convince me otherwise. Love is real! And love is mine.

4:21 pm

Just hugged a startled Anna.

"What's gotten into you?" she laughed, before her eyes darkened slightly. "You're not trying to flirt again, are you?"

"What? No. Never! I've just come to thank you."

"For what?" she smiled, eyes full of joy in that optimistic little Anna way.

"A long time ago you made me believe in love and told me that it would all work out. Well, now that the person of my dreams is now officially mine, I feel it's only fair to thank you and worship the ground you walk on."

"He said he loves you then, did he?"

"He did indeed," I smiled, and kissed her on the cheek before walking confidently away.

4:22 pm

Love Anna. Is the first person that knows Thomas loves me now!

Am glad it's her.

4:25 pm

….

Wait a blooming minute.

But I never told Anna that Thomas and I—

Why the hell did Anna say _'he'?_

…

Did she say 'he'? Perhaps I just imagined it. Ohmygod does Anna know?

No. Of course she wouldn't. I'm like a stone wall—I reveal nothing.

7:21 pm

"Anna absolutely knows," Thomas muttered when I cornered him about my concerns in the pantry. "She keeps _smiling_ at me." He said it as if it was an acute form of mortification. Oh, Thomas.

Felt my lips pout, hurt. "She hasn't been smiling at _me_ …"

"Trust me, it's not as exciting as it sounds."

"Do you'll think she'll say anything? Are we alright?"

Thomas' wintry eyes softened. "Yeah, we're alright. She won't say nothing. She's good, Anna."

Smiled up at him and pressed my lips gently to his. "I kinda like that she knows. Knows that you're mine."

"Oi, and who says _you're_ not _mine_?" he breathed smugly against my lips before kissing me again.

Thought it would be much scarier when people would begin discovering Thomas and I…. But is really not scary at all.

Jun 2

10:03 am

Since Alfred has no social skills, he asked Molesley if he's going to return to Mrs. Crawley's house as the butler at breakfast today.

Everybody paused, waiting for his response, including Carson and Mrs. Hughes who didn't even bother to scold Alfred. (Funny that, because if it had been _me_ who said it…)

Molelsey pinkened immediately. "Ah. Well, you see, after conferring with Mr. Crawley about it, and discussing a few odds and ends with Mrs. Crawley…I believe, yes, I will be returning to the old house…and leaving Downton." As a last minute thought, his almost fearful eyes turned to Carson, who clearly had not been informed of this ultimate decision.

"Is this certain?" Mrs. Hughes asked, surprised.

"As of now, yes," Molesley said, peering around the table.

"Well, now we can try for your job, can't we?" Alfred asked [tactlessly.] (Do not understand how Alfred has not been snuffed.)

I did my best to keep my most withering of looks at bay. (Thomas says I give too many withering looks to Alfred. Will not give him the satisfaction of being right.)

"Alfred, now is not the time," came Carson's judging voice.

"Oh, I don't mind," Molesley quipped, eyes bright. "May the best man win!" he joked awkwardly.

Right.

Well. Maybe Alfred isn't the most awkward human to grace the earth.

But even so… Mr. Crawley needs a new valet, eh? Hm.

I suppose being a footman _has_ gotten a bit stale, hasn't it…

Jun 6

2:33 pm

Interesting exchange of the day (minus Daisy telling me that if you soak your hair in olive oil, it does wonders. Suppose she would know, seeing as how she works in a kitchen and have never seen her hair without oil.) (But then how does she know it works…?):

We were all having a bit of rest, grabbing a cuppa and a newspaper, when everybody began to slowly file out to attend to their duties, leaving me, O'Brien, and Molesley. Would normally have been a horrifying situation, but given that I am on Team O'Brien, is no longer such a stressful atmosphere. So I stayed.

"Are you looking forward to returning to the old house?" I asked Molesley amiably.

His eyes darted to me, then away, mouth forming a little 'O' as he contemplated the question. "Oh. Yes. I suppose. It will be nice to see Mrs. Bird again."

"That old crook?" O'Brien's bored voice interrupted as she hemmed a glove.

I bit my lips to hide a smile, but Molesley kept his emotions in check, merely providing a brief nod.

"She's not that bad. I know her quite well—she's a good sort."

After it became apparent that a response from O'Brien was futile, Molesley peered over at her busy hands, efficiently threading silver through the delicate lace.

"Good work, that," he said, nodding at O'Brien's busy hands and the glove that lie between them. "You've a fine skill, Miss O'Brien."

A fine skill? Well, then.

Her pursed lips revealed her acknowledgment of the accolade, but it was left at that. After a few more minutes of awkward silence, Molesley left, jiggling teacup in hand, making his excuses.

Was very strange, Diary. You don't suppose Molesley fancies O'Brien, do you? Is it possible to fancy O'Brien?

Would be quite sweet, though. Quite.

Hmmmm…..

Jun 7

1:11 am

"You know what would bring joy to all of our lives?" I asked Thomas, curled around him and his book.

"What's that?" he absently asked, turning the page.

"If Molesley found love."

He scoffed. "Why does he need love? He's leaving anyway."

"Doesn't mean his heart can't sing for another!"

"To be fair, I don't think Molesley's heart can sing at all."

"Well, we'll find out, won't we?"

Thomas set down his book. "What are you on about?"

I smiled. "Well. I was just thinking, see. And you know who else doesn't have a heart-singing partner?"

Blue eyes narrowed. "Who," came the less-than-a-question.

"O'Brien."

"Absolutely not," he responded immediately, closing his book with a loud clunk.

"But why not?" I whined, tightening my arms around his waist so he couldn't escape me.

"You're not playing matchmaker," was the simple-yet-effective response, absent of any humor.

"I don't need your permission, you know."

"Yes you do. And I say no."

"I want to break up."

"Maybe tomorrow."

And with that, we kissed and tucked ourselves under the covers. Only after his steady breathing filled the silent room did I sneak back to my own room.

Love Thomas. But love or not, this is the best idea I've had in years. I don't know why I didn't come up with it sooner.

Jun 8

10:24 am

Have begun "Operation: Savior!" (Because I am saving two people from having lonely and barren existences.)

Was chatting with Daisy and Ivy in the kitchen (while Stella was talking at Alfred about her hair and he was openly gaping at a pretending-to-not-notice Ivy) when O'Brien found her way in.

Was mid sentence about how beautiful hydrangeas are (I only discuss such things to keep the ladies entertained. Ivy's always going on about how she wants to wear a flower crown. You know—simple minds, and all that) when the fierce looking woman broke into the conversation, voice curt and to the point.

"Where's Mrs. Patmore."

"I'm not sure," I replied honestly, and was just about to let her skulk off when I remembered. (And purposefully forgot Thomas' warnings.)

"Oi, Miss O'Brien? May I have a word?"

She stopped, setting unforgiving eyes on me, but she nodded once before continuing at a much slower pace.

"As I'm sure you've heard, Mr. Molesley is leaving."

She nodded. "It's a shame, it is."

I perked up immediately. Could things already be falling into place? Before I even started? "Oh? Why's that?" I asked innocently.

"Because it should've been a lot sooner."

Well, shit.

She made to walk off, but, feeling a bravado that only the power of love could provide, I stopped her short, giving my most charming smile and puffing my chest only the slightest degree.

"Indeed. But…I feel that he would not agree with you." (Fuck. Where was I going with this?) "No, he wouldn't agree at all." (I honestly need to start planning these things ahead of time.) "Not in the slightest." (Or at least scribble an outline for fuck's sake.) "Because, you see, Miss O'Brien….erm…he will…miss you."

Hm.

Was that too much too soon?

"What did you say?" she immediately asked. (It caught her attention, though.)

"He's going to miss you. Told me himself." Lying came easily now.

"Mr. _Molelsey_?" (you would think his name brought poison to her tongue)

"Indeed," I nodded nonchalantly, hands in pockets. "Just this morning he said how he'll miss working with such a professional…hard-working…and _able_ woman such as yourself. Says that the old house doesn't have anyone like you, and he'll miss the level of professionalism you bring to the institution."

I'd like to dedicate this time to thank the heavens above for providing me with words that made sense during a time when there was so much opportunity for everything to fall apart. Thank you, thank you.

O'Brien stared at me, caught between revulsion and intrigue.

"He said those things. About…me?" Her eyes pierced my soul, and if I was a lesser man I would have shifted uneasily. But as such, I merely stared back unflinchingly. Not a tremor in me bones.

I nodded firmly. "He did. I just thought it was kindly and wanted to pass it on. Have a good day, Miss O'Brien," I said smoothly, and left her in the corridor, seemingly stunned and confused. (And probably a little smug.)

Thomas doesn't know what he's talking about.

I am the master of love.

Jun 10

1:12 pm

Carson made an announcement during lunch today. Says that he's begun to interview for the post of Mr. Crawley's valet, and he will be looking out for good behavior over the course of the next month.

Time to shine, Diary.

8:34 pm

Is only the first day and I've already polished every bit of silver in the household, ran to the village TWICE for odds and ends that I'd heard Mrs. Hughes needed, and I even organized Mr. Carson's desk, leaving one sunny colored wildflower in my wake. (Am trying to ease up on the flowers, as it did not go so well last time.)

Thomas said I'm doing a lovely job of it, and that Carson's sure to be impressed.

I think Alfred's trying too, as he was carrying a large mountain of rugs around and I can't imagine why else he'd be doing extra work other than to get a leg up on his career.

Well. We'll see who wins.

11:39 pm

"I'm going to win, aren't I, Thomas?" I asked as we sauntered through the fresh green grass of the night, soft flowers perfuming the night air.

"Win at what, darling?"

"The valet position. I'll beat Alfred?"

"Of course. Alfred has no competence."

I beamed.

I can just see it now: _Mr. Kent, valet extraordinaire of THE Downton Abbey! Renowned for record-breaking dress time; excels in removing stains from tweed._

PLUS then I'll get the respect I deserve. And I will be Alfred's superior… Oh my days. I need this job.

"Will you still love me when I'm rich and famous?" I asked Thomas, bumping my elbow into his.

"Rich and famous as the new valet, you mean?"

I nodded.

He grinned and wrapped an arm around my shoulders, pressing his lips to my temple. "Only if you're not a ponce."

I smacked him. "Never that!"

"Then we won't have a problem, will we?" he muttered, lips twisted into a smile.

"Good. Because I'll still love you. And it's not very fun when you love someone who doesn't love you back."

"Well, James, lucky for you, you'll never have to understand what that's like."

And with one lingering kiss, we began to make our way back to the house.

Love Thomas. Want to marry Thomas.

I would make the best June bride…

Jun 11

11:11 am

"The family is to go to London a week from today," came Carson's baritone voice through the morning, smoky air of the servants' hall. "Mr. Barrow, Mr. Bates, Anna, Miss O'Brien, and Mr. Molsely will be joining me, but that will be all this time. The rest of you will, of course, remain here, taking advantage of your time under the tutelage of Mrs. Hughes. I expect excellent behavior and a clean house upon our arrival."

Wait. Mr. Barrow? Thomas is leaving?

He never said anything.

"How long will you be gone?" I asked immediately, trying to catch Thomas' eyes—who was conveniently focused on his tea.

"A week, perhaps two."

"Two weeks?" Mrs. Hughes nearly gasped. "With Lady Mary being so close to delivery?"

Carson's face turned sour—'twas a sore subject apparently. "Yes." (Carson is the master of unenthused 'yes's.)

"Has this been planned for awhile or is this a new development?" I asked, eyes firmly planted on the tea-obssessed Thomas.

Carson eyed me with all the displeasure of a man who found questions to be tedious. "New," he begrudgingly answered. "Now that will be all on the subject."

The rest of the lunch was eaten in silence, save for the tiny voice in my head that kept repeating, 'Thomas is leaving? Thomas is leaving?'

He never said anything, Diary. And after lunch he took clear off! Is avoiding me.

But why?

5:05 pm

Finally cornered Thomas—he's been avoiding me all day—and asked him about the trip to London.

"Why didn't you say anything?" I demanded delicately, folding my arms and putting physical effort into not looking like a disappointed wife.

He sighed. "You heard Carson. It's only a new development."

"But why are they going, anyway? Lady Mary's about to pop one out."

A light chuckle. "That she is, but you know Lady Rosamund. Asks for the world."

"And apparently gets the world," I muttered darkly.

Thomas shook his head, a fond smile planted on his face. "It's hardly the world. It's just a wee trip. I won't be gone for long—"

"Two weeks. Carson said _two weeks_."

"They'll go by before you know it."

I glared. "No they won't. Who will I talk to? Who will kiss me at night? What if my hair needs combing or my hands are cold? What if I get pollen caught in my eyelashes? What if a speck gets lodged in my eye? Who will take it out?"

"Dr. Clarkson?"

"Oh, shut up." I continued to glare, refusing to give in to the warm hands that were rubbing soothing circles on my arms. Still though, felt nice, so I snuck a glance upward, meeting his eyes. "But why have you been avoiding me?"

The soothing circles stopped. "Sorry?"

"Why have you been avoiding me then, if it's of no importance?"

The cool exterior of Thomas Barrow shattered. Instead, a pair of slightly jumpy eyes greeted me, paired with a nervous smile and a clearing of the throat.

"Ah. Well. I wouldn't say I was _avoiding_ you. I was merely…"

"Thomas," I pressed impatiently.

"Right. Well, obviously, I'm going to be helping out Carson when I'm in London. Just like I do here."

"Obviously."

"Yes, obviously. And, Carson may have mentioned that I may also potentially be stepping in as a valet on the odd occasion, should the need arise."

"Valet? But I thought Molesley was going with you?"

"He is. No, it's not Mr. Crawley that would need a valet."

"Oh. Then who on earth…?"

"Mr. Branson."

Oh.

_Oh._

"You mean _Tom_?"

"Don't get that tone with me—I thought you were beginning to like him!" Thomas immediately argued, cheeks near-to-flushed.

"I was! Until you hid this bit of information from me!"

"I wasn't hiding it!"

"Then what were you doing?"

"I was…" Thomas floundered, gesturing exaggeratedly with his hands, "…merely stowing it away until it was necessary for the conversation."

"Oh, is that so?"

"Yes."

I narrowed my eyes at him, studying his guilty features, arms still folded tightly to my chest. "So you'll be undressing him, then?"

"Well, obviously."

"And selecting his clothes?

"Yes, Jimmy." His voice was impatient.

"And _chatting?_ "

"I imagine so, yes." Even more impatient.

"Well, that's grand. You're off in London with some randy Irishman, and I'm over here scrubbing Carson's boots and getting screeched at by Mrs. Patmore because I snuck a dumpling."

"You didn't honestly eat another one today, did you?"

"That's beside the point, Thomas," I said hotly. "Just…" I paused, then sighed. "Just promise me you won't start fancying him or anything."

"Jimmy, you know I'd never."

I nodded, but refused to look him in the eye, the wall providing a much more entertaining view.

After a moment of silence—and I was trying to be calm and rational, I was!—Thomas shifted, then looked both ways down the corridor before gently enveloping me in a hug, pressing me close to his crisp, starched chest. Begrudgingly, I let my arms fall, resting them lightly on his hips. Still felt my face scowl though, even as he began to rub my back and sway our bodies.

Fucking Branson.

"Don't worry, darling. You know him and I are just friends." He breathed as he brought his mouth to my ear. "It's you I love," he whispered.

At that, my anger dissipated.

Almost instantaneously, my scowl was replaced with a grin that almost hurt to bear, and I pressed it into his shoulder, fully wrapping my arms around him now.

"Good. I love you, too."

Suppose things aren't so bad after all.

Jun 12

12:39 am

Fucking fuck.

I am going to kill Thomas.

We were just sat in bed, arms around each other, staring at the ceiling as we—well, _I_ —whispered of a better tomorrow, when all of a sudden, that idiot decided to just drop out:

"It's officially my birthday, you know."

I could have spit up on him.

Flabbergasted, I shot upwards. "Your birthday?" I repeated, eyes wide.

He stared back, his own eyes half-lidded and lazily observant. A simple nod was my response.

"Is this a joke? It's your birthday?"

Another nod.

"Your actual birthday?"

Another nod.

"Thomas!" I wailed, climbing out of bed. "Why didn't you tell me? I've nothing prepared! Nothing at all! It's your bloody birthday and I can't even celebrate it properly and—oh, God." I clapped my hand to my mouth. I turned to him, eyes watery. "This is our first birthday as a couple. It's our first birthday, Thomas, and you've ruined it!"

"Would you relax?"

"HOW CAN I RELAX WHEN YOU'VE RUINED OUR FIRST BIRTHDAY?!"

"Because it's not ruined, you simpleton. I don't want any presents. I just want to spend it with you."

"But don't you see? I can't even do that! Because I've already promised Carson to help Alfred with the sitting room tomorrow! Thomas, I can't even be with you on your birthday!" I was absolutely torn between throwing every sharp object in the room at his head, and sobbing hysterically and clutching him close. Was horrible, Diary. How could he just spring this on me? Especially after he'd made my own birthday so perfect?

"You got me a pen for my birthday," I whispered, close to tears.

He stared at me. "That I did."

"It was perfect." I swallowed. "And now I have nothing to give you in return." Oh, God. I am the most disgusting human being on the planet. I am a stain. I am a stain, and a terrible boyfriend—and oh, now Thomas will DEFINITELY leave me for Branson!

"Goddammit, Jimmy," Thomas sighed, throwing up his hands and standing up. With an exasperated grin, he slowly walked towards me. "Don't _you_ understand, that the only thing I could ever have wanted, I've already got?"

I looked up. "What do you mean?"

"I mean," he said impatiently, intertwining his hands with mine, "that you're all I want. And everything you've already given me—every smile and hug and kiss and screech—"

"I don't screech."

"—is all I could've asked for. And I have it. So, I ask you, what else is there? What else would I ever want?" He smiled, leaning in close and kissing me.

Was speechless. I have found the perfect man.

Overwhelmed with the sentiments that I never knew Thomas could even feel let alone voice, I began to cry. I completely admit it, Diary. I cried. _Sobbed_. It was my own darling Thomas' birthday, and we began it with him holding me as I cried until I was thirsty, leaving great wet puddles on his creamy shoulders, as he kissed my hair and laughed every now and then. (Because _of course_ Thomas laughs when I'm hysterical, poking my ribs and openly mocking me whenever my emotions get the best. Is both infuriating and refreshing.)

Well. Let's hope tomorrow isn't a complete disaster.

8:00 am

When I went down to the kitchen this morning, my instructions were very clear.

"It's Tho—er, Mr. Barrow's birthday today, so I want you all to sing "Happy Birthday" the minute he walks in the room. It's just for a little surprise, so DON'T mention it to him, and DON'T wish him a happy birthday. Alright?"

Alfred nodded. "Aye aye, cap'n."

"I thought you hated him," Stella said, examining a nail.

"I do. But even the dregs of society have birthdays."

"That's kind of you, Jimmy," Ivy sing-songed, pretty little face twinkling.

I nodded. "Well, what can I say?"

"I'm not singing anything," Mrs. Patmore interjected, elbow deep in pale dough and flour. "Never have, never will."

"But Mrs. Patmore! Surely you'll sing just this once? For Mr. Barrow?" Ivy asked, genuinely shocked by the statement.

"It _is_ for Mr. Barrow. He's been so much kinder as of late. It would be a service to him," Daisy reasoned, hands folded neatly.

At that, Patmore glanced up, then heaved a great sigh. "Well. Alright, then. But I'm only doing it just this once, so you better get it right!"

"Of course! Once again, as soon as he walks in, we'll—"

"OI! Mr. Barrow! Everybody's in the kitchen waiting to sing you 'Happy Birthday!' By the way—happy birthday!" I heard Alfred's voice announcing loudly from the servants' hall.

I swear to god.

He _must_ have a learning disorder.

Fucking Alfred.

"Oh, is that so?" replied a polite-sounding Thomas, and before I knew what was going on, Thomas was in the kitchen with Mrs. Patmore belting out the most horrendous version of "Happy Birthday" I've ever heard, while Ivy knocked over three loaves of bread and Daisy could only stutter through the first verse, a dirty rag in her hand. Stella actually sang, properly too, but she also slid her hand up Thomas' arm and winked, so I don't really think her effort counts.

Needless to say, it was complete and utter shit.

After the round of well-wishes, I mouthed an, "I tried," to him across the room, in which he responded with a pleased smile, a nod, and an endearing blink of the eyes.

I can only hope the day gets better.

10:42 am

Molesley accidentally opened a door in Thomas' face, so now he's got a swollen lip. My only comment on this is that I'm glad that at least it wasn't me who did it.

Am going to ask Carson if I can get out of helping Alfred tonight. Do not want Thomas' birthday to be any more wretched than it already is.

10:57 am

"You want to be relieved of your obligations this evening? And I suppose you also want to be relieved from consideration of the new post?"

So there's that.

11:45 am

Love Mrs. Hughes. At lunch she wished Thomas a happy birthday, and gave a lovely speech about how fond she's grown of him and how he's become such a gentleman and how the house couldn't go on without him, etc.

Was so sweet, Diary. His face lit up like someone flicked on the sun, and made the whole room warm and glowing. Love when Thomas smiles. Is the only thing that matters in the world.

Jun 13

12:56 am

Well. Thomas' birthday wasn't a complete failure. Though I didn't get off of work until much later and his lip was still quite a bit swollen, we managed to salvage the night by going on a walk through the gardens. I managed to sneak some wine and cheese, so we nibbled under the lilacs and the ivy, and lay together watching the stars. I sang him every romantic song I know, made him every promise that I hadn't already made to him, and just as his smile looked like it was truly going to burst off of his face, I pressed my night-chilled cheek to his, tucking stray flowers behind his ears, and whispered:

"Thank you for being born."

Actually felt him smile in my hair, and as he clutched me closer, amidst the crickets and the green grass and scratchy felt of the blanket, he whispered a:

"Thank you for letting me."

And I think I know what that means, so I ended up crying again. Have been very emotional since Thomas has told me he loves me. Maybe because I finally know that this is real and important, and maybe because I finally realize he might, just might, love me as much as I love him.

Feel like crying again, but as he is asleep next to me, am afraid I would wake him. Never want to wake up Thomas. Is so precious and innocent when he's asleep.

Love him.

Jun 15

4:18 pm

I am still the master.

"Molesley mentioned you again," I said nonchalantly as me and O'Brien sipped our teas side by side.

She paused. "And?"

I shrugged. "Just said that you really made a good point this morning at breakfast when you told Stella that hard work's the only thing that matters in life. He said that you voiced all the things he's always wanted to say, but never knew how." (Ha!)

O'Brien's teacup clanged with the saucer. "He said _that?_ " She genuinely appeared flabbergasted. Unimpressed, but flabbergasted.

"He did. He's been quite nice about you lately. Don't mention it, though. I feel he'd be quite shy about it."

"Of course I won't mention it," she snapped.

"But…perhaps you could try and talk to him? I'm sure he would appreciate it," I smiled sweetly.

"I've nothing to say."

Right.

"Well, if you ever do have anything, don't hesitate! He seems quite fond."

At that moment Anna called for me, so I left her thinking, the wheels turning so quickly I could hear them. There just may be blossoming love in Downton, yet!

Jun 17

7:03 pm

Everybody's going to London tomorrow. Am not sad. Nope. Not at all.

:(

The only good news is that Molesley and O'Brien will have some good quality time together. Hopefully they'll fall in love. (Quietly, and out of the line of sight of Thomas.)

8:51 pm

Diary. I am a superhero. Yes, that's right. A superhero. For today, I saved Lady Mary—and her child's—life.

How, you ask?

Well, let me tell you.

I was serving at dinner, as is usual. Was working on disguising a yawn, when suddenly Lady Mary stood up.

"I'm so sorry, but if you could excuse me for a moment—I feel I need a bit of a lie down."

"Are you quite alright, darling?" Mr. Crawley near-panicked instantly, already on his own two feet.

"Yes, very much. It's nothing to worry about, honestly, I just need a moment to myself." She procured a reassuring smile before making to move.

And that's when it happened. Her foot caught on the leg of the chair. And, just like that, a very pregnant Lady Mary almost fell face first onto the hard wood of the floor.

I panicked, Diary. I utterly panicked because she has a baby and Carson would NEVER survive such a tragedy should something happen to the babe—Lady Sybil was difficult enough—and everybody was watching and I'd always liked Lady Mary well enough. So without another thought, I thrust myself forward and somehow managed to catch her, knocking into the table and smashing a glass to the floor, but catching her nonetheless.

She screamed, her arms outstretched before her, my own securely hooked beneath her shoulders. There was a great moment of silent confusion before everything erupted, and I vividly recall Carson charging at me with a look of manic gratitude in his eyes.

"Heavens! Are you quite alright?" His Lordship demanded, and Her Ladyship was plucking Lady Mary out of my arms while Branson patted me down and Lady Edith squawked. Mr. Crawley looked ready to faint.

"James!" they all suddenly exclaimed, once Lady Mary reassured them that she was fine. All eyes peered at me, full of wonder and shock.

A chorus of "Thank you"s and "Brilliant!"s filled the room, and while it was mostly a blurry daze for me—am not used to such open praise!—was lovely. Even Carson clapped me on the back, saying I could have the rest of the night off, and allowed me to play piano for a bit longer than usual.

Feel very successful. Thomas says that I'm becoming the starlet of Downton. I think he may be right!

9:00 pm

Just remembered that Thomas is leaving tomorrow. Am now sad again.

9:15 pm

Was in the servants' hall vigorously going over the china (Carson made another mention of "Only the most dedicated can hope to climb the ladder of success. It is well to remember that Mrs. Hughes will be informing me of ALL the goings-on of the house upon my return" and accompanied the overly dramatic speech with a set of hawk eyes and unyielding posture) when Anna came in, relieving me of my loneliness. Alfred had been in the room only moments before, but his speaking-to-hear-his-voice attitude arguably makes one feel even lonelier. Vegetables make better company.

"Hello, there," she smiled, taking the seat beside me.

I nodded, barely managing a smile. Was a very gloomy circumstance.

"You alright?" she prodded gently, trying to catch my eye.

I focused on the teacups before me, refusing to relay any emotion through my facial expressions. So I nodded brusquely.

She paused for a second, her lips pursed into a smile. "This wouldn't have anything to do with everybody leaving for London tomorrow, now would it?"

"No. London? What's London?" I managed off-handedly, keeping a cool and calm exterior as I scrubbed the object before me. The gold edging was slowly disappearing under my furious hands.

Could practically feel her smug little smile grow at that, and before I knew what was up and what was down, Anna had the audacity to say, "It's good for Thomas to leave the house once in awhile. He'll be good in London—Carson'll train him well and the city's refreshing every now and then. He'll be back before you know it."

At the conclusion of her speech, I shot up out of my seat, teacup and rag still in hand. What the HELL did she just say?!

"THOMAS? Thomas?! I don't know a Thomas! Are you talking about Molesley? What? Who's Thomas? Why are you talking about this Thomas? I don't miss a Thomas. I don't know who that is and I'm not sure I heard you so I'm going to go and kiss Daisy now bye." And I stormed out of the servants' hall, tools in tow, and marched into the kitchen….which was occupied by three sets of judgmental eyes. (Four if you're including Stella, but her existence doesn't count.)

They continued to stare.

Mrs. Patmore didn't look impressed. "Can we help you?"

"Why've you got a dirty teacup in your hand?" Daisy asked, nose scrunched.

"It's not dirty," I shrilled, "I'm _cleaning_ it!" And then I ran upstairs. (Is there NO privacy in this hell pit?)

Needless to say. I'm a bit embarrassed. I know that Anna already knows, Diary—Thomas said so—but is another matter entirely when the matter is so openly discussed. And she used his name, even! And how did she find out? And what if somebody heard us?

Honestly. I'm not going to last another five years at this rate.

9:46 pm

Anna found me.

"I didn't mean to upset you," she said quietly from the doorway.

I was in Carson's office, reorganizing the silver cabinet. Had successfully managed to avoid everybody all day (except Alfred. He keeps asking me to feel his arm muscles because he's been lifting weights) and was only just beginning to feel like myself again, having imaginary conversations with Thomas in my head. Not that I already miss him before he's even left or anything.

"Upset me? However do you mean?" I asked innocently, avoiding eye contact.

I heard her sigh, followed by her soft footsteps. "Jimmy," she said, plain and simple.

I gave my own sigh, and turned around to face her. Her expression was both kind and patient. And perhaps a little amused.

"I know about…what's going on."

Well. There it is.

I swallowed. "I figured as much."

She nodded, mostly to herself I think, before continuing. "You know I won't tell anyone, don't you?"

"Yes."

"And that Mr. Bates and I will help you out in any way that we can?"

"Mr. Bates? Why the hell would I need that old bat's help?"

Kind eyes turned positively feral. "Hush! He's a good man!"

"Says you," I grumbled, crossing my arms.

Realizing she was fighting a losing battle, Anna merely shook her head as her face relaxed, eyes settling on me in a faintly fond manner. "Just don't worry so much, alright? You've got a lot more of us on your side than you realize."

Oh lord. I could feel my eyes welling up.

No. NO, Jimmy. You will NOT cry in front of Anna! Today may have been an emotionally taxing day, but that does NOT mean you need to cry in front of every passerby! Keep it calm!

Maintaining the utmost level of composure, I nodded serenely. "I appreciate that."

"Of course." A wider smile quirked at her lips. "And it's absolutely sweet, isn't it? You two make a lovely pair. I've never seen Thomas this way before—and I've worked with him for nearly ten years." She finished the bit with a laugh which somehow managed to make the threat of tears that much more pressing.

I will not cry. I am in control. I am not emotional. I am a stone.

"Oh Anna!" I practically sobbed, throwing myself at her. "Thank you so much!" (DAMMIT, JIMMY.)

Realizing there was no turning back—the tears were flowing free—I merely clutched onto her and sobbed my thanks, all anxieties slipping away for good. She held me, laughed a bit (why does everybody laugh when I cry?) and told me that I had pretty hair and polished silver better than anyone else she'd ever known.

Was very sweet of her, Diary. Feel so much better. And very relieved. Love Anna. Trust Anna.

9:57 pm

Mr. Bates heard me telling Alfred and Daisy that I thought Carson was a gruff old goat with slave-driving tendencies, so he scolded me in front of everyone by saying I was "ungrateful and disrespectful" to my superiors.

Do not understand the fuss—even Mrs. Patmore had laughed at my comparison of goat's hair to Carson's eyebrows.

Is a man with no sense of humor. Even if Anna says he's to be trusted, I still don't, and won't.

Hate Mr. Bates.

10:01 pm

Have decided to make Thomas a care package to take on his trip. Is a brilliant idea, as it will make me feel better and also provide him with the comforts of home.

I'm so clever!

11:21 pm

"Hello, superhero," Thomas mused as he opened his door for me, throwing a wink.

"Hello to you, too. May I come in?" I asked politely, holding the care package behind my back.

"Of course," he said smoothly, immediately stepping out of the way. As I walked past him, his eyes caught on the basket between my hands. "Oi, what's this, then?" Without hesitation, he plucked it out of my grip.

"Hey!" I growled as he shut the door. "I'm supposed to give that to you proper like!"

"But you did. You came here, didn't you?"

"Yes but—"

"Don't be daft, Jimmy. Now what is it, then?"

I pouted, crossing my arms across my chest. "A care package," I grumbled.

"A what?"

"A care package. Since you'll be leaving for London tomorrow and I won't be seeing you for some time."

At that his face softened, and he sat down, neatly setting the basket on his lap and lifting the cloth covering. His eyes immediately brightened.

"Pomade! And cigarettes! Stationary! Sweets! …Is this a picture of you?"

"Of course it is. Can't have you forgetting how pretty your boy is when there are so many harlots and tarts scampering across the London streets. I expect you to keep that in your pocket at all times."

"Like how you keep that pen and the Valentine in your pocket?" he asked with a smirk.

My face grew hot. "You can't prove that I still do that," I countered, but his smirk only grew and he returned to the basket before him.

"This is lovely, Jimmy. Really." He looked up, face clear and clean and sweet—a rare side of Thomas. "Thank you."

My cheeks widened in a painful smile and I felt a giddiness in my chest. I shrugged. "It was nothing. Just wanted to send you off properly."

Holding my eyes for just a minute longer, Thomas sighed and set down the basket, returning to his feet.

"Well, I suppose in that case…" He drifted off as he opened and began shuffling through his drawer.

Oh?

As I watched him search, he turned his head toward me. "I was going to just wait until tomorrow morning and leave them under your door, but… Well, since we're exchanging goodbyes—"

"Not goodbyes," I amended.

"Exchanging gifts," he countered, smiling, "then I suppose now's a good a time as any. Ah. Here they are."

My curiosity piqued as he turned to face me, a neat bundle of letters stacked in his hands, tied with a black ribbon.

"These are for you. They're all dated and arranged in order. You're supposed to open one each morning when you wake up."

Ohmylord. Letters. Thomas wrote me letters. He PRE-wrote me letters. Ohmylord.

This is the most romantic moment of my life.

"F-for me?" I stuttered, nearly out of breath as I accepted the bundle. I took in the delicate paper and fine black scrawl that spelt "James" neatly on the front, the date in the corner. "But-but I thought you didn't know how long you were to be away?"

He shrugged. "I made enough for two weeks. I can't imagine we'll be any longer than that." I just know that my eyes shone with tears, so I kept my head down, clutching the bundle tightly, feeling the crisp paper dig in my skin. "I'm going to miss talking to you every day, so this was the best that I could do."

And there goes my heart.

"Oh, Thomas," I breathed, finally looking up.

He was staring at me with such a gentle fondness in his eyes that I briefly considered tossing the letters behind me and ravishing him on the spot, but the moment was just so precious and perfect that all I could do was stare back, hoping that all the words I couldn't convey were released through my eyes.

"I love you," I reminded quietly, voice on the brink of death.

"I love you, too." He enveloped my lips in his and wrapped strong arms around me. I clutched at him, heart breaking and racing at the same time, and when he finally broke away for air, his hands tangled in my hair. "Enough to cramp my hand for the rest of the week—do you _know_ how difficult it is to write _fourteen_ letters in one day?"

I stepped on his toe, but smiled into his shoulder all the same, one hand gripping his shirt, the other securely wrapped around all fourteen letters.

Jun 18

1:34 am

Have just returned to my cold, lonely room. Thomas and I said our proper goodbyes. Am not sad or anything.

I can't wait to read his letters each day!

1:35 am

…

Then again, if I read the first one tomorrow morning, I might cry because I'll be missing him. And if I cry in the morning, the whole day will be ruined. So. Perhaps. I should read that first one tonight and then I'll read the rest of the letters every morning.

Yes. I think that's what I'll do.

1:56 am

I'm going to fling myself off of a mountain and land in a lake of flowers and sunshine. I cannot handle this situation, Diary.

That was the most beautiful letter I've ever read in my life.

_My own darling boy,_

_Good morning._

_While I will not flatter you by conveying how much I miss you already, I will assure you that you remain to be the singularly most exquisite creature to inhabit this world. Most of the time._

_Of course, you would only be more exquisite if you run, just run, and catch the train I'm on so that I may have a companion for this journey? And if you run very fast, you may just get to sit with me, which is all that I can really hope for. If you run slowly—which I know you do—it's quite alright. You can still catch me at the station, as I will wait for you on the platform. I will take you dancing in the evenings. And maybe I'll let you do my hair._

_Start running, James._

_I love you. I miss you. I'm thinking of you._

_Your Thomas_

He said he'd let me do his hair!

Would it be terribly irrational to hide in his suitcase right now? Or perhaps actually run after him? I know he was teasing, but perhaps I could manage it? I used to be quite the sportsman.

Ohmylord.

How am I ever supposed to sleep now?

1:57 am

I'm going to kiss him awake and tell him every single reason I love that letter so much. That's what I'll do!

1:58 am

But shit. Then he'll know I didn't listen to his instructions. Do not want Thomas to be disappointed with me.

No. I'll just wait, then.

1:59 am

But now what am I going to do? I'm not a bit tired!

I wonder if _all_ the letters are that gorgeous…

Was such a lovely letter.

2:47 am

Have just read all the letters.

My soul is on fire and I am going to die because how on earth am I supposed to make it one day without my Thomas? He said he'd be gone for two weeks at most, right? Carson said it'll most likely be only one.

I am going to die.

2:55 am

SUCH BEAUTIFUL LETTERS!

3:11 am

Alright. I'm officially going to sleep now.

(But ohmygod, such beautiful letters.) (He said my hair was silken and ethereal. He said my eyes were his guiding light. He said that my skin was a sweet cream that has yet to be bested by any mere mortal that exists and has ever existed!) (Alright, well, he didn't say exactly that, but I think I understood the underlying message.)

(He said he loved me twenty-seven times though, and that I'll never just be a person to him—I'll always be his everything. Written Thomas is so much nicer than live Thomas!)

Alright. I'm officially going to sleep.

3:20 am

(Such beautiful letters.)

8:08 am

Thomas and everybody left today.

It's fine. I'm fine.

9:47 am

Am most certainly not fine.

"You look like you've been crying," Daisy commented, squinting at my face.

I froze in horror.

"You do. You alright, luv?" Mrs. Patmore asked, pausing her actions.

Leave me alone. Leave me alone.

"Jimmy's crying?" Ivy asked, loud enough to scatter the birds.

"Don't be a shrew," I snapped, and darted out of that war zone.

Just great. If people can already see my distress on day one, what am I going to do for all the other days?

Jun 21

10:35 pm

I've been working my arse off.

Mrs. Hughes is constantly giving me "gentle" reminders about the new valet position, and keeps saying that Carson'll be sure to have his decision made before the month is out.

"But when are they getting back?" I asked breathlessly, rolling up a great, heaving rug with Alfred (who tripped over the damn thing THREE times).

"They're expected back next week. Mind the furniture, now!"

"Next week?!" I shrieked, dropping the rug completely, causing Alfred to stumble downwards. (That's four times now, Alfred. FOUR.)

"Oi!" he protested, ginger hair flying about like a sassy sunflower.

Ignoring him, I set pleading eyes on Mrs. Hughes. "But that's ages away! Can't you convince them to return earlier?"

She all but rolled her eyes. "Oh, yes. Why don't I just phone His Lordship and inform him that he's to return from his sister's house immediately, as per requested by his footman." Unimpressed eyes stared at me.

I sighed. "Alright, alright. I get it," I grumbled, before returning to the dreaded rug at hand and a very flustered Alfred.

"Don't do that again—I nearly lost my head!"

"If only we could be so lucky."

"What?"

"Nothing."

I miss Thomas so terribly much. Why can't time go faster?

Jun 24

2:22 pm

Have just read all my Thomas letters again.

I'm not crying.

5:14 pm

To make myself feel better, I've put a spider in Stella's hair.

5:20 pm

Apparently, Stella is deathly afraid of spiders. Who knew?

Also has quite the set of lungs on her. Did not know girls could scream so loud. Also have never seen Alfred laugh so much in my life.

So today wasn't a complete failure.

Jun 25

10:10 pm

Is Thomas back yet?

Jun 26

3:44 pm

Just had a bit of a stroll through the grounds and up to the village. Picked a bouquet of flowers (ended up having to split it four ways, giving one to Daisy, Ivy, Mrs. Patmore, and Anna. Stella said she felt excluded, so I gave her the stems. When she complained, Alfred reasoned that she could stir her tea with them, leading him to be smacked in the face with one of the larger ones.)

Is such a lovely day. Have written love poems and pressed flowers in the pages of this journal. I even befriended a stray cat!

Miss Thomas. But also love June, so it's alright.

Jun 28

8:26 pm

Mr. Crawley returned today, alone, because he had some urgent business to attend to. Is nice, as it gives us something to do while everybody else is still away.

Am resisting any and all urges to demand after Thomas' well-being. Miss him. Feels like years since I've heard his voice and seen his eyes.

10:02 pm

SUCCESS!

Stella's just said that she overheard Matthew telling Mrs. Hughes that O'Brien and Molesley have struck up an unlikely friendship.

"Can't imagine who was the first to put a foot forward. They're both a bit of work, aren't they? She's a witch and he's a broomstick," she said delicately through the steam of her tea.

"I quite like Mr. Molesley….but he is a bit of a broomstick," Daisy agreed, eyes guilty.

Mrs. Patmore laughed, hand on hip as she leaned on the counter. "More than a bit. Well, I'm happy for the pair. Who knows? Maybe there'll be a bit of summer romance in the house!"

The girls all giggled while Alfred look disturbed—"She's my auntie, she is! Stop talking about her!"—"You weren't upset when everybody thought Jimmy was courting her."—"WHAT?!" (I don't think Alfred ever found out that bit of information, come to think of it…—and everybody had a merry time of it.

You're welcome, Downton Abbey.

I AM THE LOVE MASTER!

Jun 29

8:30 pm

Mr. Crawley has been staring at me all day. And now I'm serving his dinner, and he's staring at me even more.

He looks as if his stomach is upset. Is very uncomfortable. Am getting the feeling that he wants to tell me something…

But cannot imagine what.

9:17 pm

Aaaarrrrggghhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh. Why me? Diary, why me?

Was just finishing the clean up in the dining room (Alfred had run off—probably to sexually harass Ivy) when soft, finely polished footsteps broke the silence.

I looked directly up at Matthew Crawley, smiling peaceably at the entry way, arms stiff and neat at his sides.

"Ah, my apologies. James, was it?" he asked cleanly, a light smile splayed on his lips.

"Yes sir," I assented, bowing my head. "I apologize, I will leave you to—" I began, excusing myself as is customary whenever such a situation arises.

Mr. Crawley held up his hand. "Please, there's no need. I was merely fetching my cufflink. I think it may have loosened itself and dropped somewhere between the bisque and the fish. And may I say—both were delightful. You must send my praise to Mrs. Patmore."

What the hell? His articulate little words, charming as they were, were falling upon deaf ears because when in the world does Mr. Crawley chat about the evening's meal with a footman?

Still, I nodded and sent my most professional smile his way. "Indeed, Mr. Crawley. I will this instant." Yet again I attempted to excuse myself…and yet again, he held up his hand.

"Er—if you have a moment?"

A moment? I looked to him, his hand still raised, eyes questioning. Equal parts suspicious and curious, I nodded, walking toward him, before stopping a reasonable distance away.

He motioned for me to sit.

"No thank you, sir. Carson wouldn't be best pleased if he saw me lazing on the job," I laughed breathily, unable to keep my irked thoughts at bay. Who does this bloke think he is? Asking us to sit, willy nilly?

"But surely if it's just for a chat?"

"I think it best if I stand, sir, if it's quite alright with you."

"Of course. Quite alright."

Silence.

This was extremely awkward and extremely random.

Spit it out, Crawley. Some of us have work to do.

At last, his voice broke the silence. "I just wanted to say thank you again." I furrowed my brow. "For assisting Lady Mary before we'd left for London," he explained, and I nodded my comprehension, concealing my confusion at the very belated response. "We owe you a great service. I owe you a great service. I don't know what I would have done, had something happened, and if there's anything I can do—anything at all, be it money or reference or—"

"Sir," I interrupted, noting his near-hysterical sincerity (and thinking that Mr. Crawley may just be the most neurotic individual I know, Molesley included because I mean, my LORD, that was nearly two weeks ago), "It was nothing at all. I'm happy I was of assistance, and I assure you there is no need to reward me for such a common courtesy." (That sounded posh, right?)

Mr. Crawley blinked at me. "Oh."

I blinked back, pairing mine with a smile.

He immediately returned it. "I see. Well, then. I didn't mean to offend you—"

"No offense was taken, I assure you."

He fell silent, his smile remaining as he studied me with eyes that—dare I say?—held respect. "Well, thank you, James. You're a good man, and I appreciate your conduct in this situation."

What situation? I caught a falling pregnant woman. What human being _wouldn't_ do that? Was I perceived as Satan around this household?

I gave a final nod before turning.

"Oh—and would you please tell Molesley I'll be going up early?"

A light smirk escaped me as I said, "You won't be able to say that for much longer, eh?"

And fuck.

Too far, Jimmy, too far.

Mr. Crawley blinked. "Oh, you've heard then?"

Yes. As has the rest of England. (Do these people honestly think we are bereft of speech and hearing?)

"Er—indeed, sir. I believe all of downstairs has."

"I see. Well, it is for the best. Mother had always been sad to part with him and I don't much need a valet, myself."

I stared at him, puzzled. "You mean while you wait to appoint the next one?"

"Hm? Oh, no. I meant to say that I don't think I'll be taking on another valet."

I'm surprised every light bulb in the room didn't shatter as every muscle within me tensed instantly.

"I've always found the whole affair a bit silly," he continued, "and now that the world seems to be changing a bit, I'd rather just do away with it entirely."

.

.

.

What the _hell_ did he just say? All this time, we've been working our arses off—even Carson has, for all the love of the baby Jesus—and now this PONCE dares to suggest he won't be taking anyone else on?! BECAUSE THE TIMES ARE CHANGING? BECAUSE LADIES' DRESSES ARE SHORTER AND THEIR HAIRCUTS UGLIER?

"I beg your pardon?" My voice spluttered.

He eyed me, confused. "I-I said won't be taking on another—"

"I heard what you said. I'm just a bit confused as to _why_ you said it." TOO FAR, JIMMY. TOO FAR.

Crawley looked as if he'd been smacked with a salmon. "Er—what do you—"

"That job could mean a promotion for us—any of us! Carson's being going around, dangling it in front of our faces like carrots to horses. We've been slaving away, trying to impress him, trying to make an impression that will maybe, just maybe, lead us up the ladder in this dog-shite world of slavery, and you go on and say that you'd _rather not_ taking anyone else on?!"

I could already feel the wet stone on me bottom as I envisioned Carson throwing me onto the street, but I didn't give a damn, not one damn, and allowed all the frustration of the month seep into my words and cold-blooded stare that I set upon Mr. Matthew fucking Crawley.

"I beg your pardon, but—"

"You lot don't know what it's like," I plowed on, over his feeble protests. "You have it easy, with your cufflinks and cigars and beautiful wives. Well, we've got to fight to survive. We've got to aim somewhere, and you've just taken the only goal any of us have had and you've smashed it on the floor, like all your bloody lot do! I may be lower class, but I'm happy to be so if it means never having to be like you!"

And with that, I stormed off, gravy bowl in tow.

I don't think anybody knows about it—Mrs. Hughes hasn't come at me, and Ivy hasn't lain any sympathetic hands on my forearm. But this is not going to go unnoticed or unpunished.

I'm doomed, Diary. And I only wish Thomas was here so he could encourage me, wrap me in strong, white arms, and whisper beautiful lies in my ear about how horrid Matthew Crawley's hair is, and how much lovelier mine will always be.

And now I miss Thomas even more.

Time to cry myself to sleep.

Jun 30

6:34 am

I have woken up with steely determination.

I am going to march downstairs, ask Mrs. Hughes where Crawley is, march to Crawley (I sincerely hope he is on the premises) and then apologize until we are both blue in the face. And if he doesn't accept my apology, I am going to bake him treats MYSELF, send him flowers, and purposely trip Lady Mary repeatedly so that I can catch her every time.

(I wish Thomas was here. He would march with me.) (No he wouldn't.) (But he would support me!) (No he wouldn't.) (But he would love me!)

Now.

Time to march.

9:19 am

Marching has gone disastrously bad.

Mr. Crawley was nowhere to be found, neither was Mrs. Hughes, and I discovered that, of course, Mr. Crawley went to LONDON.

"Lady Mary's had her baby, just this morning! Now we're just awaiting the news if it's a boy or a girl," Mrs. Hughes smiled, clasping her hands warmly.

"I hope it's a girl!" Ivy sang.

"I don't. We need more men around here," Alfred countered.

"Amen," mumbled Stella.

So, then. Mr. Crawley returned to London. Where Carson also is. Where he can tell one and all about my rabid outburst from last night. And Carson will fire me over the telephone.

Well.

Fuck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: This is officially caught up with my Fanfiction.net account. :) 
> 
> I hope to finish this soon seeing as how there are only 2 more chapters left. Yay! 
> 
> Thank you for reading! This beast of a story has grown very dear to me.


	11. July

The Diary of Jimmy Kent

July

 

Jul 1

6:31  am

I’m probably going to be dismissed today.

 

Carson’s going to call, I’ll hear his angry eyebrows over the telephone, and then I’ll be the laughing stock of Downton as I haul my meager belongings into the streets.

 

Thomas will leave me and all hope will be lost.

 

I hate July. I hate everything.

 

3:33 pm

I haven’t been dismissed yet.

 

However, Mrs. Patmore and Daisy have insulted my complexion disastrously. If this keeps up, I’m going to develop a complex.

 

“You look peaky today,” Mrs. Patmore said, squinting at me in earnest.

 

“He does. You’re white as chalk, Jimmy,” Daisy agreed, pausing her stirring and setting full, inspecting eyes on me.

 

Lovely. I feel like a zoo creature.

 

“I’m sure it’s just the lighting,” I said breezily, not in the mood for slander.

 

“Nah,” Alfred suddenly said, Stella at his side. “You look terrible. You should probably go and have a lie down.”

 

This is why I hate Alfred, Diary. And everybody else.

 

5:07 pm

Alright. What’s going on? I still haven’t been dismissed.

 

Is Carson torturing me??

 

7:11 pm

I couldn’t take it anymore. I had to know.

 

After dropping off the last of dinner’s dishes, I found Mrs. Hughes in her sitting room.

 

“Mrs. Hughes?” I enquired gently, knocking lightly on her door.

 

She turned around and smiled. “Yes, James?”

 

I remained nonchalant, putting up the perfect act of indifference.

 

“I was just casually wondering whether or not Mr. Carson’s made any calls today. Or made any attempts at communication?”

 

Oh yeah. The fox is back.

 

Mrs. Hughes stared, slightly puzzled. “Mr. Carson? No, not to my knowledge. Why do you ask?”

 

OH PRAISE JESUS.

 

(Keep it calm, Jimmy.)

 

“Oh, no reason. I just…er…miss him, is all.” I hid any and all wincing that threatened to occur when I heard myself utter that last bit.

 

Mrs. Hughes, thoroughly unconvinced, merely nodded, eyes assessing me. “I see. Well. I’ll let you know should he write any letters, shall I?” And I think her tone was mocking, but I’d like to think it wasn’t.

 

“That would be most gracious of you.”

 

At that she actually rolled her eyes. “You are something else, James. I’ll give you that.” And with one last little smile, she shooshed me off.

 

So I suppose today is a success.

 

(But I miss Thomas. When will he return? Everybody’s talking about the new baby... But as much as I love babies [I don’t] I can’t help but wonder what this will cause. They were only to be in London for two weeks, but now? I just don’t know. And it would be terribly impertinent to ask.)

 

(Or would it?)

 

(It probably would.)

 

(Damn.)

 

Jul 3

11:02 am

I am distressed today for two significant reasons.

1)      All is quiet on the western front. Suspiciously quiet. I can only assume that Carson is planning a slow and intricate demise for me, and is actually choreographing a detailed performance of publicly dismissing me upon his return.

2)      My diary is running out of room. I have barely any pages left, but still have so many feelings. I am nearly speechless with panic. What will I do when it runs out???

Today is dreadful.

 

(I did tell Stella she looked like a cow, though. She screeched and almost cried, so it was very much worth the reprimands I received from Mrs. Hughes and Mrs. Patmore. Even Alfred laughed.)

11:05 am

I suppose I could just get a new diary, couldn’t I?

 

11:06 am

But I like this one.

 

11:07 am

Today is atrocious. My brain hurts from all of this thinking.

 

11:08 am

I wonder what Thomas is doing?

 

11:09 am

I can hear Ivy calling my name. I’m probably late for luncheon.

 

I was born into the wrong life.

 

Jul 6

1:23 pm

I still haven’t been dismissed and I’m starting to wonder if I just imagined shouting at Matthew Crawley in the dining room.

 

I sincerely hope I did.

 

Then again, everybody’s so caught up with the new babe (it’s a boy! They’re calling him ‘Robert’ which is perhaps the least creative name in the world. I don’t understand the tradition of carrying on names. Why is branching out such a bad idea? She should’ve named the thing James and be done with it—I have a stunning name.)  

 

Have been very lonely as well. Have spent most of my time scrubbing every flat surface, polishing everything in my vicinity, and running errands for the kitchen staff and Mrs. Hughes.

 

I do hope I get this promotion, Diary. I would look so very posh as a valet. Could wear a proper suit. Would get an increase in salary.

 

Ohmigod! Thomas and I could get matching suits! We would love beautiful!!

 

That’s it, Diary.

 

I MUST get this job. I don’t care if I’ve ruined my chances or if Matthew Crawley hates me; I WON’T GIVE UP!

 

Jul 8

9:08 am

I give up.

 

Mrs. Hughes has just said I’m going to need the spend the day with Alfred, hauling carpets and tapestries in and out of storage, before being enclosed in Carson’s tiny office and polishing the silver that’s only used at Christmas.

 

I’m sorry, but I can’t think of anything that provides less suffering.

 

How the hell am I going to survive today??

 

12:58 pm

I LOVE TODAY!!!!

 

Mrs. Hughes just said at lunch that everybody’s to return tomorrow!!

 

“Everybody, Mrs. Hughes? Staff included?” I asked very nonchalantly.

 

“Indeed. Lady Mary and the babe will be on the earliest train. The others will follow shortly.”

 

I could have cried in my tea.

 

Thomas is returning! Thomas is returning!

 

Life is getting its color back!

 

Jul 9

6:07 am

THOMAS COMES BACK TODAY!

 

11:18 am

THOMAS COMES BACK TODAY!

 

12:46 pm

THOMAS COMES BACK TODAY!

(The family’s returned. Mrs. Hughes said Carson and Thomas and everyone should be arriving at any minute!!!)

 

1:21 pm

I AM PATIENTLY WAITING FOR THOMAS TO COME BACK!!!

 

MRS. HUGHES SAID ANY MINUTE, BUT THAT WAS ALMOST AN HOUR AGO. BUT THAT’S ALRIGHT BECAUSE I’M PATIENTLY WAITING.

 

1:45 pm

What the hell is wrong with that woman?

 

Who tells somebody that people are going to arrive, and they don’t? If she had no clue as to whether they were arriving soon, then she should have—

 

Wait.

 

I hear…Carson’s voice. Ohmigod, ohmigosh, YES, that is Carson’s voice!!!

 

THEY’RE BACK!

 

THOMAS IS BACK!

 

2:34 pm

So help me God.

 

I bounded into the servants’ hall, where everybody surrounded Carson, Anna, Mr. Bates, and Molesley and O’Brien (who were standing quite close, might I add).

 

Immediately, I noticed a certain someone’s absence.

 

“He is a beautiful little chap. He’s got his mother’s eyes and her fine nature. He will do the family proud and wear the title of ‘Lord Grantham’ with all the honor of his forefathers.”

 

And that’s well and good and all, but where the fuck was Thomas?

 

“Oh, he sounds lovely, Mr. Carson. But, may I enquire as to the whereabouts of the rest of the staff?” My tone was the most nonchalant it has ever been.

 

Mr. Carson appraised me, puzzled. “They are here, of course.”

 

I glanced at the faces before me for good measure.

 

Nope. Still not Thomas.

 

“I think what he’s asking is why Mr. Barrow and Mr. Branson stayed behind,” Anna supplied, and she shot me a tiny, knowing smile.

 

A tiny, knowing smile that was lost on me as I collectively shat my pants.

 

“I beg your pardon?” I nonchalantly spluttered, and I actually gripped the chair before me to steady myself.

 

“Ah, yes. Mr. Barrow was acting as Mr. Branson’s valet, and he had some affairs to attend to in London. They should be back within the day.”

 

The only thing that kept me from exploding in a fiery mess was the fact that I completely trust Thomas, I appreciate and respect his friendship with Branson, and they are going to return soon, safely nixing any possibility of them eloping. (I know how Branson has a penchant for that sort of thing.)

 

“Excellent!” I smiled in a manner that hurt my cheeks.

 

Honestly, Diary. I can’t catch a break.

 

2:46 pm

Wait a second.

 

Carson hasn’t dismissed me. He hasn’t said anything.

 

… I don’t know what the hell is going on around here, but I am certainly not going to complain.

 

I may just have a job as valet, yet!

 

3:33 pm

AH-HAH!

 

Found Molesley in the servants’ hall. Couldn’t help but take advantage of such a situation.

 

“Mr. Molesley!” I greeted warmly, putting on my best smile.

 

“James,” he nodded with a twitchy smile.

 

“You’ll be leaving soon, eh? Back to the old house, I mean.”

 

“Ah, yes. Once Mr. Crawley has settled in here, I’ll be making my leave. Should be another week or so.”

 

“I see, I see.” I cleared my throat and stood with nonchalance. “What about Miss O’Brien?” I asked casually, studying my nails.

 

Molesley nearly dropped his teacup. “Miss O’Brien?”

 

“Yes. Where will she go? Or will you two be living apart?”

 

I smiled angelically.

 

“I-I’m quite-I’m quite sure that she’d prefer to stay here. We’ll-we’ll find our way, of course. Nothing we can’t manage,” he smiled. And then, with the fear of Jesus in his eyes, he dismissed himself, clattering teacup in hand.

 

So there it is, Diary.

 

I am the master of love.

 

O’Brien and Molesley have found each other. Thanks to me. And now the world is a better place.

 

(Want to tell Thomas so bad! When will he be back??)

 

(Then again. He may yell at me and ruin everything. Will wait until he finds out on his own.)

 

I must keep this secret.

 

7:18 pm

“Molesley and O’Brien are courting,” I found myself saying as Alfred and I were waiting for our trays.

 

“No!” Mrs. Patmore nearly gasped, spatula in midair.

 

“What?” balked Alfred. Oops. Forgot that were his aunt.

 

“Well. I mean. I’m not sure if it’s serious,” I reassured him, but his jaw remained on the floor.

 

“Molesley?? But he’s so…twitchy like,” he said with revulsion, and Stella laughed.

 

“But he’s got a nice manner, hasn’t he?” she said, hand on hip.

 

Hm. Stella is capable of saying nice things? Am I sober?

 

“I think it’s sweet,” Ivy said, soft pink cheeks puffed in a smile. Aw, bless. She’s such a sap, isn’t she?

 

“The whole house’ll be married before you know it,” Daisy muttered, eyes never leaving the pot she was stirring.

 

“Not me,” I said without thinking.

 

Shit.

 

“And why’s that?” Mrs. Patmore asked as she sprinkled flour on the counter.

 

Er.

 

“Well, I don’t know. I suppose we’ll just have to see, won’t we?”

 

Luckily, Alfred chose that moment to complain about his aunt’s choice in suitors again, so the subject was changed.

 

All in all—great success.

 

9:10 pm

Thomas still hasn’t returned and the world is ugly.

 

10:00 pm

I am going to thoroughly check every inch of his body for lovebites. If he has one, just _one_ …

 

No.

 

No, Thomas would never do anything. No.

 

I need to just calm down. Because I trust Thomas, and I am secure in our relationship. I like Branson. Yes.

 

Jul 10

5:05 am

I am so happy, I could float on air! The sun is out, the sky is sapphire, and the grass perfumes every room with the blissful promise of life and laughter!

 

Life is perfection, and my hair has never looked better!

 

Thomas came back last night.

 

Was sleeping unrestfully, dreaming all sorts of horrid things (Thomas kissing Branson and other such nightmares that will scar me eternally) when I suddenly felt a presence, bringing me to wakefulness.

 

“Hello there,” whispered a velvety voice as arms encircled me, and even in my sleep deprived oblivion, I knew exactly what that meant.

 

“You’re back,” I immediately coughed through my sleep-voice, and turned into the embrace behind me—to Thomas.

 

“That I am,” he muttered with a tired smile, and though he smelt of travel, dirty trains, and cigarettes, my own personal heaven was returned to me.

 

I couldn’t contain my smile as we kissed (very sloppily, I was dead exhausted) and just as we broke apart, I found myself asking, “Why you back so late?” in a tone that I hoped was anything but accusatory.

 

“We took a car. Tom wanted to be back by tomorrow morning.”

 

Just as I was opening my mouth, a cool, smooth finger was pressed against my lips.

 

“Don’t say anything about it. Nothing happened. I still love you. I missed you every moment. Did you read my letters?”

 

Oh good god above.

 

Now I just feel like an ass.

 

“Every morning!” I lied. “I missed you, too. It was odd without you. Nobody said anything about my hair.”

 

Felt his smile against my cheek as we embraced. “I’m sure it was perfect every day.” Pause. “How could it not be with the amount of product that’s continually soaked into it?”

 

I don’t care if he’s just come back—I bit him.

 

“Argh!”

 

“That’s rich, coming from someone whose head could be used as a slip-and-slide. I do _not_ soak my hair in product.”

 

“I think this is one of those times we need to agree to disagree.”

 

“Alright, Thomas. I disagree.”

 

“And I agree, James.”

 

“Goodnight?”

 

“Goodnight.”

 

But, before I shut my eyes again, I couldn’t help but enquire a tiny, “Did Carson mention anything about dismissing me? Or Mr. Crawley? Did Mr. Crawley say anything?”

 

“What on earth are you—“

 

“Excellent. We’ll catch up tomorrow, darling. Love you. Goodnight.”

 

And before he could protest further, I sank into the pillow and drifted adamantly to sleep.

 

Perhaps I’m not going to be dismissed, Diary.

 

Perhaps.

 

Jul 12

10:50 am

Morning has not been very successful. Have been yelled at at every corner.

 

All because of a slight slip of the tongue.

 

It was during breakfast and we were all discussing the Lady Mary’s new babe. Carson elaborated about the birth in great detail (nothing sordid, mind you) and regaled us of the daily events of said babe. (It was utterly boring, as babies don’t do much but sleep, eat, soil themselves, and scream a ruckus. Still, I pretended to be charmed.)

 

Yet, as everybody cooed and awed at each passing sentence, I noticed that there was yet to be a description given to the little thing. Nobody said anything about what he looked like! So, naturally, I was quite curious.

 

“Is the baby ugly?” I found myself asking.

 

Which, dammit, Jimmy, because that could have been phrased better.

 

Of course, Carson nearly choked on his toast and Mrs. Hughes gasped louder than a banshee.

 

“James! You will show some respect!”

 

“That is grounds for dismissal!!” Carson blurted with a pink face, and let me tell you, Diary—I thought that was it. And I mean _it_. (And I’ve had plenty of scares, so I know what I’m about.)

 

“Now, Mr. Carson,” Thomas immediately intervened, throwing eyeball-daggers at me, “I’m sure James didn’t mean that. Perhaps he’s just overworked from trying to obtain the new position of Mr. Crawley’s valet; he’s not in his right mind.”

 

Mr. Carson harrumphed, eyeballing me.

 

“Hm. Perhaps indeed.”

 

And he left it at that.

 

I threw Thomas a mental ‘I love you for saving my drowning corpse,’ and a sweet, brief smile, before looking away to a very knowing Anna, who had been watching the whole affair.

 

Love Anna. Love that she knows.

 

Even if her husband later called me “rude” and “childish” because I asked if a baby was ugly.

 

Jul 15

11:47 pm

I severely dislike having a significant other.

 

Thomas berated me today when we went on our walk.

 

“Mr. Bates told me you were being impertinent to him today?”

 

Oh, please.

 

“Impertinent? To an old crook? Never.”

 

“Jimmy,” he warned, but I rolled my eyes.

 

“I don’t understand. I thought you didn’t even like him—why are you suddenly sticking up for him?”

 

“Because he’s got my respect now, that’s why. He helped me during a tough time.”

 

Was just about to enquire further, when I caught the slightly foreboding look in his eye.

 

Ah.

 

“Well, just because you respect him doesn’t mean I have to.”

 

“True. However, he is your superior. And a good man. If you just—“

 

“I WILL NOT. I WILL NOT GO AGAINST MY BELIEFS OR PRINCIPLES JUST TO SATISFY YOUR HAPPINESS. YOU ARE SELFISH, THOMAS BARROW!” I shrieked under the stars, and I did not regret one word.

 

He remained quiet, eyebrow raised, staring at me with a look that is best described as ‘thoroughly unimpressed.’

 

“Have you finished?”

 

I sniffed. “I have.”

 

“Good. Just try to be a bit kinder. He’s not a bad man, it will be good for you to get on his good side—what with you trying to become a valet as well—and it’ll make my job a lot easier.”

 

Though I rejected any attempts at peacemaking at the time, have been thinking about it since. I suppose it would be a bit of an advantage to make peace with the old bear, wouldn’t it?

 

Tomorrow. I’ll try tomorrow.

 

I hate Thomas. And I hate that he persuades me to do things like this.

 

Jul 16

6:06 am

Today’s goals:

  1. Try to weasel out any information about Molesley from O’Brien.
  2. Befriend Bates.



I hate today already.

 

11:31 am

First goal accomplished.

 

I may have stalked O’Brien all morning in hopes to catch her alone.

 

The good news: it worked!

The bad news: that woman does not share.

 

“Miss O’Brien!” I greeted in a delighted tone, once she was done chatting with Carson (she’s been doing that quite a bit lately…) and I sidled up to her, hands behind my back.

 

“James,” she nodded, before trying to pass.

 

“I just ran into Mr. Molesley,” I hurried, blocking her path.

 

Her eyes flashed upward, but no other reaction was made. “Indeed.” She tried to pass again.

 

Once again, I stepped in her path. “He’s very sad to leave Downton,” I sighed with a suggestive undertone.

 

Please take the bait, woman. I need to know what is happening.

 

“I’m sure he is. We’ll all be sad to see him go.”

 

And with that, she went on her way.

 

For any other person, I would regard said interrogation as a failure. However. This is O’Brien.

 

Her reaction towards Molesley’s departure has successfully gone from “Finally” to “We’ll all be sad to see him go.”

 

If that’s not a clear indication of her undying, mind-bending love, then I don’t know what is.

 

I need a crown. I am king.

 

11:59 am

Just told Thomas I am a king.

 

“You’d make a far better queen,” is what he said, before turning the corner.

 

I suppose he’s right. Their crowns are prettier.

 

3:46 pm

Second goal of the day has plummeted to Dante’s final circle of Hell.

 

I tried to talk to Bates, Diary. I really did!

 

Found him sat in the servants’ hall (that is the place to go whenever you need to find someone to chat with) mending Lord Grantham’s buttons, and was delighted to see we were alone.

 

I seized this opportunity.

 

With a difficulty even I didn’t anticipate, I forced myself to sit next to him and smile a greeting of, “Hello, Mr. Bates.”

 

He paused his actions, eyeing me with a calm suspiciousness. “Afternoon, James.”

 

Alright, this is good. Words are being exchanged. Good vibes are flowing.

 

“How are those buttons?” I asked awkwardly after failing to formulate any other questions.

 

He raised an eyebrow. “Well enough. His Lordship has been having difficulty with a few. I’m merely suiting them better to his needs.”

 

“Ah,” I said.

 

Silence.

 

He continued to stare at me expectantly while I floundered for words. (What are words??)

 

“So…” I started, channeling my inner social butterfly and leafing through my mental dictionary. What do I say?

 

I could feel his eyes on me.

 

The pressure is on.

 

“So, what’s it like being crippled?”

 

And THAT was the last thing that I should have said.

 

I knew it was wrong immediately.

 

Without transition, his calm, expectant eyes turned murderously dark.

 

“You should be ashamed of yourself,” he concluded with a stern tone, before assembling his wears and hobbling away. No! Not ‘hobbling.’ Before…walking away with a noble bounce.

 

Ugh.

 

Feel slightly guilty, Diary. I didn’t mean to offend him this time. Was just trying for conversation!

 

Ugh.

 

Thomas is going to be so mad.

 

And Anna, too.

 

Ugh.

 

3:56 pm

“Have you called Mr. Bates a ‘cripple?’” Daisy just whispered to me in the kitchen.

 

My god. These people need to clap their beaks shut.

 

Gossip can kill people.

 

4:01 pm

Dear LORD.

 

“I hope what they’re all saying isn’t true, you cheeky little thing! If you’ve gone and called Mr. Bates—a fine man and a veteran to our good country—a ‘cripple,’ then you’ve no business in this kitchen of mine—“

 

“I didn’t mean to, Mrs. Patmore!” I nearly cried, hands outstretched and pleading for mercy.

 

“SO IT’S TRUE!” she squawked, and before I was caught in the line of fire, I slipped out of the room.

 

Honestly. This has been my worst mistake yet.

 

Ugh ugh ugh.

 

4:21 pm

Have just ran from Anna. Literally ran.

 

“You!” she accused upon seeing me as I rounded the corner.

 

Not in the mood to be lectured (I didn’t mean to insult him, dammit!) I ran as fast as my legs would take me.

 

Have been hiding in the pantry for the past seven minutes.

 

4:47 pm

There was a knock on the pantry door.

 

“Jimmy?”

 

Thomas.

 

Not sniffling because I was not crying, I cracked the door open.

 

“Yes?”

 

“Jimmy, come out.”

 

“No. Never! I am the stain of Downton. Nobody likes me anymore, Thomas! I’ve ruined my career! Once Carson and Mrs. Hughes catch wind of this, I’ll never be considered for the valet position!”

 

“Yes you will. Now come out.”

 

Drying my non-existent tears, I cautiously stepped into the light of day.

 

His eyes were soft as they surveyed me. I probably looked a mess. “There you are.” He set a sweet hand on my forearm. “Is it true?”

 

I groaned. “Thomas—“

 

“I’m not accusing you of anything, I’m just asking!”

 

“Yes. BUT”—I added as Thomas opened his mouth—“it were on accident and I didn’t mean it! Not like that! I was trying to befriend him! Just like you wanted me to.” My voice finished small.

 

There was a pause, and I glanced up. Thomas was smiling.

 

“Of course you managed to insult the poor man in the worst way when you were trying to befriend him.” His tone was fond.

 

“I’m very good at doing things like that,” I sniffled dejectedly.

 

“Yes you are. But don’t worry.” He leaned closer. “I’ll fix this.”

 

And before I could drop to my knees in blind gratitude, Thomas was gone.

 

How he will fix this, I know not. But the fact that he wants to, will try to, means the world.

 

I love Thomas.

 

Must do him proud!!

 

Jul 17

9:19 am

Nobody’s mentioned the Bates incident since last entry (and I’m too afraid to mention it to Thomas and he hasn’t said anything about it himself) so I’m assuming Thomas really did find a way to smooth things over with Carson and Mrs. Hughes.

 

(By the by—Carson made a passing mention about how he’s just about made his decision about the new post as valet. I am already preparing my acceptance speech. And my outfit.)

 

Am going to make things right with Bates today. I will!

 

Have promised Mrs. Patmore and everything! (She finally let me back in her kitchen. Is such a relief, but is also very disheartening—it had been so long since I had a kitchen ban. Am sad to have broken my peaceful record.)

 

11:42 am

Fuck. Everything.

 

I tried to make amends with Bates.

 

Found him in the corridor, standing pensively with his cane, so I walked up to him with my most apologetic smile and stated boldly:

 

“I’m sorry I called you crippled.”

 

He narrowed his eyes.

 

“I mean it. Truly! I’m sorry…I’m just not very good at being nice.”

 

At that he actually laughed, crinkles forming at the corners of his eyes. “Nobody’s bad at being kind, Jimmy.” I beg to differ. “You just need to stop thinking about it so much. The kindness is in you—just let it out naturally.”

 

I bit back an instinctual, “You don’t know me,” and instead settled with a bitten-lip smile and a nod.

 

We stood there a bit awkwardly, and just as I was thinking of a good conversation starter (he likes flowers, right?), Bates supplied a:

 

“So you and Thomas are good friends?”

 

And the hot flashes began.

 

Because Anna knowing about Thomas and is one thing. Bates knowing…is entirely another.

 

“No. No, why would you say that?” I demanded.

 

“You just seem to spend a lot of time together,” he reasoned, but I countered it with a:

 

“I hate him. And we do not spend time together.”

 

“There’s nothing to be ashamed of, Jimmy.”

 

“I’M NOT ASHAMED!” I barked hotly, and next thing I knew, I was turning on my heal, hissing out, “We better get back to work—try not to fall down the stairs, chum.”

 

…

 

I have nothing to say in defense of myself.

 

8:13 pm

Anna glared at me all through dinner.

 

Carson and Mrs. Hughes didn’t. So there’s that.

 

Still feel like an evil person.

 

11:27 pm

The first thing Thomas said to me when I entered his room tonight was:

 

“You told him to fall down the stairs?”

 

Shit.

 

“Er. No?” I supplied, putting on my toothiest grin and guiltiest eyes.

 

“JIMMY!”

 

“I’m sorry! I just…I may have…gotten carried away.”

 

“Well, obviously!”

 

“Well, he mentioned you and I and I panicked! I didn’t know that he knew and—“

 

“What do you expect? He’s married to Anna!”

 

“Yes, but… It was all very shocking.”

 

“So you told him _that?”_

 

“I mean-I didn’t-I don’t know. I feel terrible, alright?! Bloody terrible! And Anna hates me now! Mrs. Patmore is probably going to ban me from the kitchen again and I’ll lose me job! So everything is horrible, Thomas! Everything is horrible, and I don’t know how I’m going to make it out of this one!”

 

I fought back a manly sob.

 

“Jimmy,” he sighed as he embraced me.

 

I cried against his undershirt.

 

“Can you fix this? Please? Without calling him names or suggesting violence?”

 

I nodded as I hiccupped.

 

“And then will you please stop trying to befriend people?”

 

I nodded once more.

 

“Good. Now let’s get in bed, read some stories, and mock Alfred and Stella. Did you see them today at dinner?”

 

Love Thomas.

 

Always makes me feel better.

 

Jul 18

7:11 am

Today’s the day. I’m going to fix everything with Bates.

 

And I have a plan.

 

10:03 am

Have just returned from the village.

 

Plan is fool-proof.

 

And ingenious.

 

Now all I have to do is convince Bates to come with me to send a telegram.

 

10:14 am

Potential problem afoot.

 

Had found Bates, who was talking with Thomas, and asked him to come to the village with me.

 

“Why?” he immediately asked, and the dislike was positively pouring from him.

 

“Well, I have to send a telegram and I thought…this would be a good chance for me to explain myself. And we could get to know each other better!”

 

He was immediately suspicious, but he agreed.

 

Problem is, so did Thomas.

 

I tried to give him the “NO!” eyes, but he ignored them and stepped into pace with us. I excused myself so I could write this down.

 

I’m panicking, Diary. This cannot go wrong!

 

I sure hope Thomas doesn’t get mad.

 

Then again, now he can see my good deeds!

 

… Let’s hope this goes well.

 

12:24 pm

I am slowly coming to terms with the realization that nothing will ever go according to plan.

 

Here’s how it went, Diary.

 

I’ll be honest. I may have paid off some local children to stage a situation where I look like the hero, and thus impress Bates.

 

It may have not worked out…accordingly.

 

We had just reached the village, on the particular path I’d mapped out, when we stumbled upon said children.

 

Two boys were making fun of a small child with a limp. The limping child was ignoring their taunts, and so, before Bates or Thomas could intervene, I proudly stepped up and said with bold luster:

 

“Hey!”

 

And the children stopped and stared.

 

“That is enough, ye young devils! He may be a cripple, but he is a KING! Crippled people are better than normal people! See this man here?” And I motioned to Bates. “He is an ANGEL among men! Look to him, not to your sinful ways!”

 

I felt grand and proud, like a Greek god!

 

But when I peered over, Thomas looked mortified.

 

“Are you delivering a sermon?” he asked icily.

 

What?

 

Did I do bad?

 

I looked over to Bates, who was now rubbing his temples.

 

Was just about to ask him what was wrong, when, of course, the child with the “limp” ran up to me.

 

“Oi! Where’s me money?”

 

“Later,” I hissed, trying to sidestep him. (This is why I hate children.)

 

Thomas’ jaw actually dropped.

 

Bates stared in disbelief.

 

Fuck.

 

“James,” Bates began, and he looked like he didn’t know where to start. “You need to stop drawing so much attention to these trivialities. It doesn’t matter. All of this is nonsense. If you focus on the physical details of life, you’ll drive yourself mad with all of the imperfections. It’s what’s inside that truly matters. Nothing else.”

 

I blinked, not knowing what to say or do.

 

I looked at Thomas. He was nodding.

 

“Oh,” I merely said, and Bates sighed and put an arm around my shoulders, which slumped.

 

“I think you may have actually had your heart in the right place this time though,” he said, and there was the briefest twinkle in his eye. “So why don’t we just keep this between us?”

 

“Um. If it wouldn’t be too much trouble,” I muttered. And then I released a small smile.

 

And ignoring Thomas’ persistent glares (and after paying the child), we walked back to the house.

 

So not all was lost.

 

4:48 pm

Anna is talking to me again.

 

“I’m happy to hear you’ve made amends with Mr. Bates,” she smiled, and bumped her hip into mine as she passed me.

 

Today is a good day.

 

Jul 22

10:52 pm

Have been running myself ragged trying to impress Carson.

 

He keeps saying he’s about to announce the new position. I think he’s just torturing us. That’s what Thomas says.

 

“But Alfred won’t get it right?” I asked him.

 

“Don’t be daft. He has no chance.”

 

I just wish things would be sorted!

 

All Carson does is flit around all day, singing about the baby.

 

And, as far as I know, Mr. Crawley still hasn’t said a word.

 

10:58 pm

I wonder if Mr. Crawley would dismiss me instantly if I got the position? He obviously can’t hate me that much if he hasn’t told Carson.

 

But I can’t imagine he likes me, either.

 

Jul 25

3:04 pm

Thomas just grabbed me in the hallway.

 

“Did you know that O’Brien and Molesley are sweethearts??” he asked, gaping.

 

I smiled smugly. “Are they, now?”

 

He froze. “Jimmy.”

 

“What? You can’t say anything because it’s too late! Just admit that I did the world a service, Thomas!”

 

“I’ll admit nothing. I’m going back to work, but expect an earful tonight.”

 

Oh, Thomas. Can never admit when I’m right.

 

Jul 28

5:05 am

Am getting up extra early today so I can organize the serving dishes.

 

I better get this position.

 

I feel like death.

 

Jul 29

8:34 am

Something is afoot.

 

When I said “Good morning” to O’Brien today, she gave me once-over before nodding curtly and walking away.

 

What is her problem?

 

9:00 am

Carson’s just said that he’s going to announce the new position!!!!

 

“I’ll notify them of their new post within the hour. Mr. Crawley looks forward to your services.”

 

This means he forgave me!!

 

Mr. Crawley forgave me!!

 

I GOT THE JOB, I JUST KNOW IT!!

 

9:15 am

“Do not jump the gun, Jimmy.”

 

“What do you mean?? It’s not me?? Do you know that it’s not me??”

 

“I know no such thing. In fact, I’m positive it’s you. But you need to calm down. You’re making a scene.”

 

“I’m calm! I’m calm!! Alright. I’ll slow down.”

 

It’s very hard to slow down.

 

9:23 am

“Do you think you got it, Jimmy?” Daisy asked with an excited smile.

 

I puffed my chest. “I think so, yes.”

 

“You’ll look so handsome as a valet,” Ivy gleamed.

 

Mrs. Patmore nodded. “A proper grown man, you’ve become! Won’t be spending much time in these kitchens then, I suppose!” And there was almost a sadness to her voice.

 

“Mrs. Patmore,” I reassured, “I don’t care if I become the Lord of the household—I will never stop stealing food from your kitchen.

 

She rolled her eyes, but there was an accompanied smile.

 

Ohhhhh I’m so excited!!

 

9:30 am

I GOT THE JOB!!!!

 

Well, I’m pretty I did.

 

Mrs. Hughes just passed me in the hallway and gave me a knowing smile.

 

“James,” she said.

 

“Mrs. Hughes,” I said.

 

AND IT WAS WRITTEN BETWEEN THE LINES, I SWEAR. HER EYES TOLD ME EVERYTHING.

 

9:44 am

Honestly, can’t he just tell me now?

 

9:51 am

“You’re shaking. Calm down! You’ve got to serve tea soon. The Dowager’s coming,” Thomas muttered in the corridor when he saw me having a panic attack.

 

“Again?” I shrieked.

 

“Well, with the new baby, she’s bound to be here more often than usual. Just smarten up and breathe, will you?” 

 

I nodded, and he pressed my arm before walking away.

 

I am unraveling, Diary.

 

9:55 am

CARSON HAS JUST WALKED INTO THE ROOM!!!!!!

 

9:56 am

Why on earth has he just asked to speak with Alfred?

 

10:15 am

Bloody

Fucking

Hell

 

…

 

Alfred got the job.

 

…

 

I surrender the will to live.

 

3:20 pm

Have spent the day on the receiving end of pity eyes, encouraging pats on the shoulder, and whispered apologies.

 

Have also successfully managed to avoid Alfred completely.

 

And Thomas, for that matter.

 

Do not want to see anybody. Have worked so hard for this job, and yet Alfred, Alfred who picks his ears and runs into walls with his tea trays, gets the raise.

 

He gets it, while I rot away as a footman.

 

I am inconsolable.

 

5:15 pm

Just saw Thomas.

 

“It was O’Brien,” he whispered angrily.

 

“O’Brien?” I asked dazedly.

 

“She’s been talking in Carson’s ear. She wants a good future for Alfred, the snake. Her loyalty was always with him, friend or no.”

 

I nodded, but barely heard. I knew something was afoot.

 

But what does it matter?

 

Too late anyway.

 

10:23 pm

“Do you want to go for a walk?” Thomas asked after Carson dismissed us all.

 

I shrugged. “Not particularly. I just want to go to bed.”

 

He stared, concerned. “Alright, then. Have a good night, James. And don’t stress yourself about this. There will be more opportunities.”

 

I nodded, then climbed up the stairs.

 

What Thomas doesn’t understand is that it doesn’t matter if there’s more opportunities. I will always find a chance to ruin them. I had a chance at being the future Earl of Grantham’s valet. And then I screamed at him.

 

Life is hopeless for Jimmy Kent.

 

Jul 30

6:22 am

Today is already wretched.

 

7:01 am

Thomas knocked on my door.

 

“How are you feeling?”

 

“Miserable and disillusioned.”

 

“Ah. Well, would you like to walk with me downstairs?”

 

“I suppose. Can I eat cake today?” I asked pathetically.

 

“I’ll see what I can do. I think Mrs. Patmore will probably bend the rules for you. She usually does.”

 

At least I have Thomas. And Mrs. Patmore. And cake.

 

9:16 am

Alfred has been trying to talk to me all morning.

 

Have successfully avoided him, but I don’t know how long I can keep it up. I’m just not in the mood to hear his boasts. Or Stella’s. So I’ve been avoiding her, too.

 

(Haven’t been avoiding O’Brien, though. I’m stalking her like a hawk, waiting to trip her or throw her down the stairs.)

 

10:29 am

“Are you alright, Jimmy? You haven’t been yourself,” Anna said gently, putting a light hand on my arm.

 

“I’m fine,” I said automatically.

 

She gave a sympathetic smile and rubbed my shoulders. “I’m here if you need anything. Me and Mr. Bates.”

 

I nodded.

 

Don’t know why people are acting like me mum died. Was just a job. No big deal.

 

10:48 am

Once again dodged Alfred.

 

“Jimmy—“

 

“Sorry, Mrs. Hughes has just sent for me.”

 

And then I hid in the pantry.

 

12:55 pm

Is very hard to avoid Alfred when serving. (And I’m surprised he’s still serving. True, Molesley is still in the process of packing up, but I figured he’d begin his training by now.)

 

“Jimmy!” he keeps whispering.

 

Is infuriating. I will not look at him. I will not listen.

 

But I will stab him with a fork.

 

6:33 pm

Found Thomas after a particularly depressing conversation in the kitchen about Alfred’s new post. (However, Mrs. Patmore did give me a hug and kiss on the cheek. Love her.) (And I did spill tea on O’Brien. It’s the small victories.)

 

“Thomas,” I muttered pathetically when we were alone. “Can we lie in bed tonight and talk about how ugly red hair is?”

 

He smiled sadly and kissed my temple. “Of course we can. We can make fun of tall people, too.”

 

Love Thomas.

 

10:20 pm

….

…

…

…

I think I’m dreaming.

 

Carson had just dismissed us to bed (“We must rise early tomorrow! Young Robert’s christening will begin at nine, sharp!” which I may have completely forgotten about) when Alfred, who I have been successfully avoiding, disengaged himself from a deep conversation with Stella (who shot me curious eyes) before walking up to me.

 

I could see Thomas in my peripherals, watching, and I nearly made a break for it when Alfred suddenly grabbed my arm.

 

“Jimmy.” And his face looked alarmingly serious.

 

It was both odd and off-putting.

 

“Yes?” I asked impatiently, wrenching my arm free. “I suppose you want me to congratulate you? Throw flowers at your feet? Well, congratulations, Alfred. You win!” The bitterness filled my mouth.

 

“No, you daft sod. I’m not here because of that. I want to say that I want you to take the job.”

 

…

 

“Huh?” I asked, mouth agape.

 

“I want you to take the job,” he repeated.

 

…

 

Wait.

 

What?

 

_What??_

 

What did Alfred just say???

 

“I beg your pardon?” I squeaked.

 

He rolled his eyes. “You heard me. It’s yours. It means more to you than me. And let’s be honest—I only got it because of me auntie. I suspect she’ll be in a state when she finds out her hard work was for nothing, but I expect Molesley’ll cheer her up.” And his dopey grin was back in place.

 

What?

 

_What??_

 

“Alfred,” I began, truly at a loss for words.

 

“Go on, then,” he said. “I’ll tell Carson tomorrow. It’s you who deserves the post, not me.”

 

“But—“

 

“That’s that. I don’t like Mr. Crawley much. And it didn’t work so well with us last time. I doubt it’ll be any better this time round.”

 

I stared blankly at him because what?? WHAT?? What is reality?

 

Alfred— _the_ Alfred, bane of my existence—has just surrendered an incredible opportunity…for _me?_

Where am I?

 

Is this a dream?

 

With one last reassuring nod, Alfred began walking away.

 

“Alfred,” I called, and he stopped. “Thank you. Really. Thank you, mate.”

 

He shot a small smile, then barreled on his way.

 

After what felt like forty seven minutes, I looked over to Thomas, who was still watching from the shadows, a beam on his face.

 

“So,” he said.

 

“So,” I answered.

 

Silence.

 

We both grinned.

 

“I suppose we won’t be making fun of red hair or tall people tonight, then?”

 

“Nope,” I nearly sang, and with a smile that almost split my face in two, I pranced up the stairs, Thomas right behind me.

 

Diary…

 

I don’t even know what to say.

 

Jul 31

7:10 am

I’m so nervous. Has Alfred spoken with Carson? How will I know? What if he decides someone else is better for the job? Did Alfred mention me? Or did he forget? What if Mr. Crawley still hates me? Oh god, how will I face him? How can I unclothe a man I belittled? Will he remember? Is he blinded by love for his child?

 

I’m so nervous.

 

8:27 am

We’re all leaving for the christening soon.

 

I suspect Alfred’s told O’Brien his decision, as she keeps giving me sour looks. But they’re softened by Molesley’s constant presence at her side.

 

Hate all she wants, the reason she found love is because of me.

 

She’ll come around sooner or later.

 

8:50 am

Ohmygod.

 

Carson’s just come up to me.

 

We all began filing out of the house when he took me aside.

 

“James. I would like a word with you when we return.”

 

“Yes, sir.”

 

He nodded, attempted a smile, then retreated.

 

Ohmigod. Diary, I think it’s happening!

 

11:50 am

Dear Diary,

I’m not sure what world I live in, but it is not mine. My world is dark and unlucky and ugly and unfair. This world is beautiful, promising, forgiving, and lucky.

 

Was already a bundle of nerves at the Christening because of the whole affair with Alfred.

 

So imagine my horror when Mr. Crawley himself approached me afterwards.

 

“James,” I head a soft voice say behind me, and I whipped around to see the gently professional eyes of Matthew Crawley.

 

Dammit.

 

“Mr. Crawley,”I greeted, bowing my head.

 

He smiled, somewhat awkwardly, ducking his head a bit as well. “How are you today?” he asked politely.

 

“Well, thank you.”

 

Awkward silence.

 

Kill me now.

 

“The weather is lovely.”

 

“Indeed. The sun is very bright.” (I am terrible at polite conversation.)

 

Another awkward silence.

 

“I actually would like to address a certain matter with you—“ he began, but my panic got the best of me.

 

“I apologize profusely for my conduct during our last encounter, sir. I was going to apologize the day after, but then Lady Mary had her baby and then—“

 

He held up a hand, a small smile in place. “No need. Truly.” And I quieted. “What you said was correct. And, as is obvious, I’ve taken your words to heart, as I have continued my search for a new valet.”

 

And that suddenly dawned on me. Why hadn’t I noticed that? Why hadn’t it occurred that it was strange for Carson to continue interviewing for the position if Mr. Crawley hadn’t wanted a new valet?

 

Oh, Jimmy. Ohhhhh, Jimmy.

 

“Though I apologize for the impertinence of the situation, as well as the ill timing, I have been meaning to have a conversation with you.”

 

“With me?” I squeaked.

 

He nodded. “Yes. Yes, I was wondering if you would be at all interested in the position of my new valet?”

 

And in that moment, I think I died.

 

“Huh?” I spluttered ineloquently.

 

But Mr. Crawley smiled. “I know this is not the time nor the place, but I find my time monopolized by wife and baby. And so I must take advantage of the moment, I’m afraid. I hope you do not find me rude?”

 

“Nuh uh,” I grunted, mouth agape.

 

SHAPE UP, JIMMY. NOW IS YOUR MOMENT.

 

(Is life a dream???)

 

“I will talk to Carson, of course—I’m not sure if he’s selected anyone just yet, and I do hope he hasn’t –but I find your spirit admirable and your tone engaging. You are a noble man, James. And I look forward to our friendship together.”

 

What did he say?

 

What did he actually say?

 

Surely. Surely, he did not just say “friendship.”

 

What?

 

_What??_

 

“Thank you, sir. Thank you so much. I’m sorry. And thank you!” I blathered, shaking his hand with a ferocity that startled us both.

 

Gently removing his hand (and laughing quite a bit) Mr. Crawley nodded. “I’m glad you’ve agreed to this. And thank you for coming today. I will see you soon.”

 

And with that, he was gone.

 

As was my ability of speech.

 

I just don’t understand, Diary.

 

Is this a cruel joke? Or am I dreaming? Or am I drunk? What is going on?

 

Whatever it is, I like it.

 

10:11 pm

Today has been a whirlwind.

 

After we returned from the Christening, Carson did indeed speak with me. He told me of his intentions to make me valet, how Mr. Crawley confirmed these intentions, and how I deserved the post every last bit.

 

It wasn’t long after that that Thomas found me. In a deserted corridor, he picked me up and swung me around, before setting me down (and I was laughing hysterically) and taking a step back.

 

“You’ve done it!” he grinned wildly. “It’s official!”

 

“At Mr. Crawley’s own request!” I glowed.

 

“Carson’s told me. What happened between you and Mr. Crawley, though? You never told me anything about an argument.”

 

“Tonight I’ll tell you everything. For now, let us rejoice.”

 

And with one very quick peck of the lips, we parted joyously.

 

It was then that I entered the kitchens.

 

“There he is!” they all sang, and before I knew what was happening, Mrs. Patmore was standing before me with a cake, a tiny banner stuck into it that said, “Congratulations, Mr. Kent!”

 

“How on earth—“ I spluttered, but Daisy and Ivy cut me off in their excited chatter.

 

“Alfred told us what he was planning to do yesterday!”

 

“We had last night and today to prepare!”

 

“I made it myself!”

 

“I helped make it, too!”

 

“We made sure to keep it from you!”

 

“Mrs. Patmore said you liked cake best! I hope you enjoy it!”

 

They both beamed at me, side by side, and I was just about to hug them until we all died, when I caught Mrs. Patmore’s eye.

 

“I knew you had it in you. A proper valet now! Mr. Kent!” Now. I am not a crying man. But her voice was just emotional enough that I broke down into tears, Diary.

 

Reputation be damned, I cried.

 

And the best part?

 

“This is so beautifuuuuuuul,” Stella suddenly sobbed, and she ran forward from her spot in the corner, wrapping her arms around us all as we embraced, the cake between us all. (Was such an emotional moment that I completely resisted the urge to stick her face in it!)

 

Tears very much blurring my vision, I whipped my head around to see Alfred, standing there with his chest puffed and a sentimental smile on his face.

 

“Come here then, you oaf. We all owe this to you, anyway!”

 

And with a grin that grew larger, Alfred ran forward before being swallowed alive by our group hug.

 

Was a precious moment, Diary. Felt so loved and so happy.

 

And later, as we were eating cake—and Anna (who hugged me and squeezed my cheeks and looked very glowy), Bates, Mrs. Hughes, and even Molesley and O’Brien joined us—I felt that, for the first time, I had done something right in my life.

 

It was only after the buzz wore down and we began preparing for dinner that Anna came up to me, Bates at her side.

 

“I’m so proud, Jimmy,” she smiled, and she squeezed my arms.

 

I grinned goofily in response, high on everything.

 

“And I suppose now is as good a time as any.” She glanced at Bates, whose eyes flicked lovingly to her, then appraisingly back at me. “See, we haven’t announced it just yet.” She paused.

 

The anticipation built.

 

What’s going on?

 

“But we’re going to have a baby,” she smiled, and I could have cried all over again.

 

“Congratulations!” I immediately exclaimed, and was just going to hug her when:

 

“And, since we’ve no family left between us… We were wondering if you’d like to be the Godfather of our child?”

 

And then I really started crying.

 

“Really? Me??” I used them for support, as the threat of swooning was very real. “Will I be any good at it?”

 

“You’ll be just fine,” Bates assured me, and before I could stop myself, I leapt into their arms.

 

“This is the most perfect day! Thank you both! Of course I will be the Godfather! Thank you!” And then I paused. “What should I wear?”

 

But they only laughed at me. (Was a serious question.)

 

Am now numb with happiness.

 

Can barely even write, Diary!

 

Which, I suppose is lucky. As this is the last page of this beloved diary.

 

Am heartbroken, but I suppose it’s best to end on a high note, right? Because today has been absolutely perfect, and I can hardly believe a moment of it.

 

But oh, how I will miss you, dear friend. You have been with me through it all! Parting is such sweet sorrow, as Thomas would say.

 

Speaking of, must find him. It’s a night to celebrate!!

 

You will remain in my heart always, Diary. I will never throw you away! Finding you outside was the best thing to ever happen to me.

 

Well, actually, Thomas was. But it was you that brought us together! And for that I’m eternally grateful!

 

Did I mention how today is amazing?

 

Love always, Diary,

 

x Jimmy Kent

 

 

_James,_

_Though you have repeatedly expressed your sincerest desire for me to never, ever touch your diary, you are currently outside picking flowers to make yourself a bouquet because of your promotion. And honestly—who makes themselves a bouquet?_

_I know this is the last page of your Diary, and I know how attached you’ve grown to it, so I want the last words in it to say how much I love you. You are beautiful, you are everything, you are obnoxious, and you are mine. And, lucky for you, I am yours._

_You’re going to shriek when you find this—and yes, you shriek—but I don’t care. Meeting you was everything, as was watching you grow, and I become prouder and prouder of you every day._

_You are going to be the best valet in the world. I promise. (And if not, I’ll clean up your messes. Because we both know there will be quite a few.)_

_I’ll love you forever. Even when I don’t want to. Because you are my cheese, always will be._

_The world is changed because you are made of ivory and gold._

_A_

_ll my heart,_

_Thomas_

_PS. Let’s get you a new Diary tomorrow in celebration, yes? I think that’s best. But even if you decide not to—if you put your diaries to rest—I promise I will always be what this was to you. A place to talk, release, cry, and reveal your soul._

_Always._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IT'S OVER!!! IT'S FINALLY OVERRRRR!!!!
> 
> Oh my lord. This was such a beast. I'm so glad it's done. I mean, really. Praise the world. 
> 
> I hope you enjoyed! Chat me up sometime! (velvetoscar)

**Author's Note:**

> AN: Finally posting this on here!


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